


In the Valley of the Shadow of Death

by wordslinger



Series: Three Prayers [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: Jellal has paid for his peace with a pound of flesh. The life he left behind wasn't ever supposed to come up the mountain path to find him again. But one does not simply ignore a royal summons from the Queen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sick for a week and a half. I am on medication. I made this. I don't know where I'm going.

            At twenty-seven, Jellal didn’t consider himself old but he did appreciate his age. He’d reached a place in his life where he had just enough control to know the day belonged entirely to him. He _chose_ to give his time in service of the gods and their temple. The monotony of toiling with the land and his prayers eased him in a way he’d never thought possible. As a child and young man, his time had never been c _ompletely_ his own to give. Now, he cherished every moment he spent doing what he chose – even if his choice was that of service and very little self.

            Summer had long heaved her final gasps and the leaves were slowly giving into the bite of winter. Jellal loved the crawl of the seasons now that he had time to watch and appreciate each one as a separate entity. From his spot on the north side of the garden Jellal could see the road leading into the nearby village. This far north the roads were not much more than hardened paths of dirt and, in more populated areas, packed gravel. His eye caught on a group of cloaked travelers and something in Jellal’s gut twisted. The trio was nothing out of the ordinary – by the looks of it, two women and a man – but the sight of them brought unease. Jellal’s grip on the fence post tightened and he ignored the sharp sting of a splinter in the palm of his hand. When he turned and ripped his hand away from the post, a drop of blood stained the dirty pants of his garb.

            He didn’t like the look of _that_ either.

* * *

 

            The onset of winter brought with it certain seasonal worries. Food, mortality, and the eventual plummet of temperature were all concerns of the lay folk. Jellal had spent enough time brushing against the upper echelons of society to know where these concerns dropped off in favor of more frivolous things like parties and things that sparkled. He’d been all up and down the ladders of wealth and had found what he could call finally call peace on the bottom rungs.

            Twice a week his young acolyte trailed him from one needy location to the next distributing the yield they’d dug from the temple’s gardens themselves. On any other day Jellal would’ve taken a quiet pleasure in delivering food to those who had very little but he felt eyes on his back. He hadn’t tapped into his skillset for deception and stealth in many years but he slid into them like fingers into a perfectly tailored glove. His acolyte thought nothing of the lie and carried on his business. Jellal took a path between two wood frame buildings and knew he would never make it to the next street over before finding himself no longer alone.

            The other man was quick as a serpent and had a scar crawling over one ruined eye to match. His face was passive. Jellal folded his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. The man’s scar crinkled when he grinned.

            “That getup doesn’t suit you,” he drawled, leaning against the stack of barrels that lined the side of the building. _“Father,”_ he said in a sarcastic tone.

            “Tell her I’m not interested,” Jellal said flatly.

            “I’ll tell her I knew this would be a waste of my time.”

            “Just so long as you tell her.” Jellal stalked past the other man and didn’t look back.

* * *

 

            “I’ll be headed home now,” the acolyte said. He stood in the doorway of the small rectory shuffling his feet. Jellal glanced up from his scrolls.

            “Was there something else?”

            “I think tomorrow we should pull the radishes. The frost will come early this year.”

            “Of course.” Jellal raised one eyebrow. “But that isn’t what you wanted to say, is it?”

            “There’s a woman in the temple,” he said in a hushed tone. “She’s just…” The acolyte threw an uncomfortable look over his shoulder. “She’s just kneeling in there with the incense.”

            Jellal sighed. “I’ll see to her. Go on home.”

            “Goodnight.” The acolyte bowed and disappeared out the door and down the path leading toward the town.

            He shuffled his scrolls and papers. He stacked and restacked his books. He lined the inkwells symmetrically along the edge of the desk. Finally, Jellal snuffed his oil lamps and made his way toward the temple. There would be no more putting it off. As much as he didn’t care for her presence in the temple, he was glad she hadn’t approached him in town.

            Rows of candles lined the temple floor. His robe whispered around his ankles as he blew each one of them out for the night – all except the lamp on the altar. The temple was empty, which meant she was elsewhere. Jellal sighed again and decided not to seek her out. She’d always done everything on her own time anyway.

            The kitchen was on the backside of the rectory with one window overlooking the flat expanse that separated the temple from the woods that led to the mountains. Jellal prepared his tea as he would any other night.

            He knew the moment he was no longer alone.

            “You frightened my apprentice,” he said softly. “It was unnecessary.”

            “I disagree,” she said with a laugh. “He looked like he could use some excitement.”

            Jellal sighed and turned to her. “He’s never been off the mountain. Don’t be cruel.”

            She watched him with shrewd eyes that didn’t soften for a long moment. “I always hoped we’d see each other again,” she whispered.

            “Ultear –”

            “Did you find what you were looking for out here in the wilderness?”

            “This is hardly the wilderness,” he grumbled.

            “You always did like to suffer,” she said with a fond grin.

            “Why are you here?”

            Ultear sighed dramatically and let the hood of her traveling cloak fall away. Her hair was still black as midnight and she’d lost none of the posh luster that lured more than one trusting from the comfort of their window.

            “Do you believe me when I say I wish I wasn’t here at all?”

            “Only a little.”

            She grimaced but a smirk glittered beneath. “You once accused me of peddling pretty lies. Now that I come to you peddling honesty, you still don’t believe me?”

            “I believe you _want_ to be honest,” he said, studying her harshly. “But I think your ego demands the game.”

            “Fair enough.” Ultear leaned her hip against the edge of the table. “I need you.”

            “No.”

            “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t unavoidable.”

            “No.”

            _“Jellal –”_

            He set aside his tea and allowed a very old, very thick anger bubble to the surface. “I’ve _earned_ this wilderness, Ultear. I will _not_ follow you back into whatever spider’s web you’ve got yourself caught in. I _can’t._ ”

            Jellal ran his hands over the front of his robe and tried to will his hands from shaking. Ultear had the decency to not mention it.

            “I’m sorry you wasted your time,” he muttered, edging past her to leave the kitchen for his bedroom.

            “It’s not _my_ web,” she whispered. “I would never have come if it was just me. I know better than that, at least.”

            Jellal froze. His eyes slid closed and he tried to wall away his thoughts.

            “I wouldn’t have come for anything less than a royal edict.”

            His heart pumped violently and his hands balled into tight, painful fists. Even with his eyes squeezed shut he saw nothing but red. Not the same red as the poppies that grew in the valley below the town. Not the same red that painted the sky at sunset. Not even the red of the blood he’d left on his work pants the day before. This red was singular. _Scarlet._

            When Jellal turned to face the kitchen again, it was empty. The folded parchment with its crimson wax seal stood out against the unfinished wood tabletop. He didn’t need to cross the room to know the shape of a bleeding heart would be stamped into the wax. The Queen was ever dramatic.

* * *

 

            The chill of the morning bit into his fingers and the pain of it kept him sober. Only Meredy smiled when he joined the group of three at the mouth of the road south.


	2. Chapter 2

            As a priest, however shoddily ordained, Jellal could pretend many, many things. Armored with his robes and work garbs he didn’t have to examine the past or the sins committed therein or the unpracticed skills lurking in his shadows.

            On the road south, however, Jellal was granted no such clemency. He still wore his robes and said his prayers and meditated on his beads but the satisfaction he’d found on the mountain hadn’t followed him down. Jellal recognized this for what it was. The curtain had been pulled back and he was still the same man he’d always been both inside and out. His long-held suspicion that a life of austerity and faith would never be anything more than a smoke screen felt as real as the road beneath his boots. He could admit he missed the camouflage, though, however selfish it was.

            The closer their party of three drew to the royal city, the more keenly Jellal felt the mark on his face. He hadn’t thought of it or it’s origins in years – which spoke volumes of its potency. Something he’d taken thorough advantage of. More shallow burials of who he truly was. The royal city and all its layers and levels sparkled on the dark horizon and Jellal could hardly breathe. With every step he felt heavier.

            “Had I known what a morose man you’d become, I’d have left you to your shrine and chickens, Jellal,” Ultear said in the same light tone she’d always taken even when teasing about serious matters – _especially_ when.

            “Speak for yourself,” Erik grunted from the edge of their camp. He didn’t look up from sharpening his blades. “I’d have dragged him back to the palace kicking and screaming rather than face the Queen empty handed.”

            “Are you so afraid of Her Majesty?” Ultear asked with a smarmy lilt.

            “Yes,” Erik bit out. “And you should be, too.” His glare would’ve sliced through anyone who wasn’t Ultear. She shrugged but Jellal didn’t miss the rigidity of the movement. He wished he didn’t know her so well.

            “Are you going to tell me what she wants or was it your plan to dump me on the steps of the palace and bolt?” Jellal finally muttered. “The summons was ominously vague.”

            Silence as thick and toxic as poppy smoke hung around the camp. Ultear sighed and opened her mouth.

            “Ultear,” Erik snapped before she could get a word out. “It might suit _you_ to pretend the Queen is a forgiving woman but I value my life too much for such lies.”

            “Erik is right,” Meredy said softly. She grimaced apologetically toward Jellal. “We were sent to collect you and nothing more. I’m sorry.”

            The secrecy annoyed him but failed to surprise. “You don’t owe me an apology, Meredy. I understand the weight of a missive with the Queen’s personal seal.”

            The night fell silent and when the fire burned low, Jellal stretched out on his back. He studiously ignored Ultear’s prying gaze. It hadn’t been so long he’d forgotten the set of her jaw that held back a fountain of words – none of which he thought he’d like very much.

* * *

 

            The royal city of Crocus sat on a cluster of rolling hills that surrounded one center spike of elevation. As a child, Jellal learned that the city had been founded on a loosely drawn accord of various guilds and tribes at the mouth of the sprawling river that cut Fiore in two. The six primary hills represented each of those founding groups and trades. The class system was obvious even to outsiders – the lower the elevation, the lower the bar.

            Jellal had cut his teeth in what was commonly referred to as The Troughs. The web of spaces between Crocus’s rolling hills connected everything and everyone. These were the veins of the city. Every hill had a crest. Every hill had her own tiers and layers that set her apart from her sisters. But the shaded web of streets and melting pot of culture was the true heart of Crocus. Anyone could shed their skin and become whatever they wanted. Once or twice Jellal lost himself to years gone by and wondered what type of life he’d have if he’d been dumped anywhere other than the royal city and the many folds of her skirts. The answer to that trail of thought always led back to the same thing – betrayal from the shadows, bloodstained cloaks, and a pair of pleading eyes so vibrant and green they broke his heart.

            At the city’s zenith stood the palace. The seventh hill was higher than her six sisters and boasted her own tiers, each more lavish than the last. Jellal had been on every single tier and still preferred The Troughs. The shadows made him feel safer.

            Seven years apart and the city still wormed her way into the pores of his skin. He both longed for his simple mountain life and wished to cut himself open and let Crocus take the last drop of his blood.

            A crowd of children pulsed through the street that ran from the main harbor out into the farmlands. Jellal felt a tug at the outer flap of his robe and before he could respond, Ultear appeared next to him with her hand wrapped tightly around a filthy little wrist.

            “Get lost, kid,” she hissed. “What kind of urchin robs a priest?” The boy scowled up at Jellal, his face a mixture of horror at being caught and healthy skepticism.

            “A priest?” He demanded in an accent Jellal used to be able to mimic perfectly. _“Him?”_ The boy wrenched free of Ultear and scampered off. Ultear smirked and wiped her hand on her traveling cloak.

            “You might be able to fool those farmers up north, Jellal, but nobody here is going to take you for a holy roller.”

            Jellal huffed and smoothed the brown robe that served as both a sign that he was of the faith and a traveling cloak.

            “We ain’t got the _time.”_ Erik cut in. “Can we get this shit over with? I don’t like it.”

            Meredy laughed in her bubbly way and winked at Jellal. Nothing much had ever phased her and Jellal was glad she’d retained her good nature even after so many years.

            “Erik’s always grouchy when we’re in the city.”

            “I can’t say I blame him,” Jellal muttered, falling into step behind Ultear. Erik brought up the rear of their party and Jellal wondered if the other man truly thought he’d try and bolt. As easily as one could find a nook or cranny to hide in Crocus, _nobody_ could hide from the Queen.

            With every passing street on their way up the seventh hill, the buzz of the city dulled. Instead of the shouts of merchants or children or the hum of everyday life, the sounds of fountains filled Jellal’s ears. Along with richer clothes and homes and food, money bought a buffer between the wealthy and everyone else. As nice as these upper tiers were, though, it was immediately obvious when they crossed into the royal gardens. The opulence was unmatched.

            Even higher still, looming over The Troughs, the six hills, and the gardens was the palace. The high, stone walls were all an almost opalescent grey. Reaching up the very heavens was a multitude of towers topped with golden spires. Though these lessons had come at great personal expense, Jellal knew the palace and its grounds just as well as he knew the rest of the city. Crocus owned him through and through.

            Ultear stiffened as they approached the gate. She was a formidable and terrifying woman to be sure, but the Queen of Fiore was in a class all her own. Neither of the armed guards stopped them from passing through the gates or the main hall. Ultear came to a halt outside the heavy throne room doors. She spun around and her mouth flattened into a grim line.

            “She’s expecting you, I suppose.”

            “Did you assume anything else?” Jellal asked, pushing his hood back over his shoulders.

            “I –” Her eyes flit to Erik, where he imagined she found the same judging expression that had been etched into his face since they had the gall to march up his mountain. “No.” She suddenly flipped the switch and turned back into the Ultear he knew. “Catch you on the flipside, Jellal.”

            Ultear brushed passed him and pinched a fold of Meredy’s cloak between two fingers. Jellal didn’t watch them go. He’d already focused his gaze on the glowing lacrima panel in the center of the left door. What if… surely not after all this time…

            Jellal pressed his hand to the lacrima panel and the door inched open.


	3. Chapter 3

_He was dirty. Dirtier than he’d ever been. The trails of dirt were easily visible in his fingerprints and he couldn’t recall ever examining the unique pattern that was distinctly him so closely. The wind no longer ruffled his hair in individual strands but as clumps. He imagined he smelled like the stench of the city in the summer. The royal gardens were thick with the cloying scent of midsummer blossoms but he could still smell himself. He’d have felt shame… if he weren’t so terrified for his life. For the first time in months his cheek was hot with something other than sweat and a teardrop smudged the swirl of dirt on the pads of his fingers._

_“Your Majesty –” The man’s voice was annoyed. His armor gleamed even in the filtered sunlight of the gardens. A feminine, but strong, hand reached for his chin and tilted his face upward. Her hair caught his gaze first. So violently crimson. “He’s just another urchin. This city has hordes of them.”_

_The Queen’s lips twitched into a smile she only shared with him. For the knight, she scowled._

_“If you think this boy a nameless urchin, I should strip you of your rank and title now, Sir Arcadios.” The Queen pinned him with her gaze and Jellal gathered the edges of his shirt in his dirty palms. “Can you do it again?” she asked in a voice that could almost be interpreted as soft._

_Jellal’s eyes widened and flit to the tall knight with the pointed nose. “I don’t think I should,” he whispered._

_“Urchin or not,” Sir Arcadios growled. “He’s impudent.”_

_“He’s a lost little boy,” the queen muttered in the same honey soft tone. Jellal wasn’t small or ignorant enough to dismiss the hidden edges, though. “He’s afraid as well he should be, I suppose. The number of attempts on the Fiore crown in the last year upset even me, Sir Arcadios.”_

_Jellal stared down at his dirty palms. He could feel the magic creeping there but his reserves of trust were empty. What would it hurt anyway? Better to be gutted here and now by Sir Arcadios than an assassin who might want to drag things out for sport. Jellal’s eyes slid closed and he held out his palm. His fore and middle finger pressed together while the others balled into a fist. He opened his mouth and drew in just enough air for a whisper._

_“Sema.”_

_Though his eyes were still closed he could feel the sky darkening and the air thickening. He’d always been told his magic was potent for one so small and young. Everything vibrated and shook. The fear that encased his chest began to melt away as his knees bent. Before he could sink down and bring the heavens to the earth, the same strong hand as before closed around his._

_“Enough,” she said with authority. “Are you convinced, Sir Arcadios?”_

_“Magic is magic,” the knight said in a hard, but no longer disbelieving, voice._

_“You’re a thick headed man,” the queen insisted._

_“Celestial magic isn’t so rare, Your Majesty.”_

_“This isn’t celestial magic is it, child?”_

_“No,” Jellal whispered, opening his eyes again._

_“I thought not. Heavenly body magic is quite distinct. How have you come to be in the royal city of Fiore?” she asked very quietly. “Why are you so far from home?”_

_“I don’t have a home.”_

_The queen reached out and touched the clumps of dirty hair that stood at attention every which way. Her fingers brushed over his forehead and she seemed to be searching for something._

_“You look like your mother,” she whispered. “Here in your cheek bones and nose. Your eyes are nothing short of identical.” The pads of her fingers brushed the line of his jaw. “But your father is here. Yes, I can see it now. How have you come so far? Will you tell me? I might be able to protect you if you tell me.”_

_Jellal felt the weight on his shoulders press down on him so hard he thought he might be flattened into the ground beneath his feet. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw himself into the arms of this foreign queen and let his tears soak into her crimson hair. He desperately missed his mother in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to miss her in nearly a year._

_All those were the desires of a little lost boy and Jellal stuffed them away. He was stronger than that._

_“The news has been all over the city for ages, Your Majesty,” Jellal blurted in a way he knew would offend the knight. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”_

_The Queen smirked finally. Jellal felt emboldened._

_“Royal family of Stella slaughtered in their beds,” he parroted in a voice common to gossip vendors down in The Troughs. “Revolution came to Stella in the middle of the night and the streets flow with royal blood.”_

_“You’re quite good with that smart mouth,” the Queen said. “But you still haven’t answered my question. How did you come to be in Crocus?”_

_“Maybe I hitched a ride on a star.”_

_The Queen laughed and stood. She folded her hands in front of her._

_“Shall I hang him from the walls, Your Majesty?” Sir Arcadios asked, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword._

_“I think not, Sir Arcadios. His secrets are his own but I can’t very well let a run away prince with a price on his head bounce around in The Troughs, can I?”_

_“I’m not a prince!” Jellal stammered. “A prince has a kingdom.” The last of his courage seeped out of the soles of his feet. “I don’t have that.”_

_“True enough, but I think you have purpose yet.” The Queen sighed and eyed him from head to toe. Jellal felt uncomfortably exposed. “Clean him up,” she called over her shoulder. Jellal hadn’t seen any ladies in waiting since he’d been dragged from The Troughs but he understood that in a palace, someone was always close by. The Queen zeroed in on him again. “You truly do resemble your mother. I suspect it’s the dirt and those filthy clothes that’s kept you alive this long, boy, but we’ll have to do something about that face of yours.”_

* * *

 

            The throne room stood suffocatingly empty. Jellal was almost offended. His eyes scanned the room corner to corner before he pursed his lips and started across the floor. His dirty boots sank into the posh pile of red carpeting that lead all the way from the doors to the throne.

            Without hesitation, Jellal took the stone steps two at a time and bypassed the throne. He reached for the long curtain lining the back wall and shoved it aside. The trigger brick looked just like all the others but Jellal would’ve been able to pick it out in his sleep. A panel swung open and with a final glance over his shoulder, Jellal stepped into the long narrow passageway. At the end of the hall was a cracked door. Yellow light fanned across the floor and he pulled it open with little care.

            As always the crimson hair of the Queen struck him first. She faced away from the door and didn’t turn to greet him. Of the two Spriggan Guard members present, Jellal recognized only one. Brandish didn’t even bother to glare at him. She simply strode from the room with the same bored expression she’d always had. The other woman, a blonde with a sharp grin and wild eyes, followed Brandish but only after making a show of running a finger over his shoulder. Jellal hated her immediately. He didn’t care for immature power plays. The queen didn’t whirl around until they were alone in the room.

            “You came.”

            “You summoned,” he countered, shrugging off his cloak. “Should I have ignored you?”

            “No,” the Queen whispered. “Did you find what you were looking for up in the mountains? Did it satisfy you to hover on the edge of your homeland?”

            “No.” Jellal pulled a chair from the table in the center of the room and fell into it. He suddenly felt tired.

            “Are you sure? I have it on good authority you haven’t set foot off your mountain since you arrived seven years ago.”

            “When I took leave of this place, Your Majesty, I didn’t think I would be subjected to an interrogation almost a decade later on whether or not I was satisfied with my purchases.”

            The Queen raised one eyebrow. “Is that how you view what happened? As a purchase?”

            “I paid and received a service. How else should I describe it?”

            “Paid is such an ugly word.”

            “A cost was demanded of me,” he drawled. “It’s appropriate, however ugly you think it.”

            “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost the edge of your tongue,” she said dryly. The Queen crossed the small room and filled a crystal wine glass with something red. “Can I offer you a drink or do your vows prevent intoxicants?”

            “The Queen offering to serve a lowly mountain priest?” he said with a grin. “Scandalous.”

            “You can rend your clothes and pull tubers from the ground and light your prayer candles all you want, Jellal, but that isn’t who you are. When you are in my palace, I will treat you appropriately. You’ve certainly earned it.”

            Jellal laughed. “I haven’t been a prince in a long time, Your Majesty. You owe me no service.” He reached for the glass of iced water she offered. “But I won’t insult you by saying no. Thank you.”

            The Queen stared at him for a long moment before polishing off her bitter, red wine in one long swallow.

            “I have need of a favor.”

            “Surely you have better skilled officers in your court? I’ve been tending to a village for the last seven years. I’m out of practice.”

            “You’re not wrong,” she said in a low voice. “I have my Spriggan Guard and my knights. Things haven’t changed so much since you’ve been away that I’ve let my standards fall to the point of ruin.”

            “Then why am I here? Why send Ultear? She’s a member of an assassin’s guild.”

            “You once wore their mark, too.”

            “I’ve worn many marks, Your Majesty. Some of which I wear still.” Jellal stood and folded his arms over his chest. “We entered the city without a single problem. Your guards didn’t look at us twice from the base of the seventh hill all the way to the throne room door. _Why?”_ He stepped around the edge of the table, daring to approach the Queen head on. “Why send an assassin to collect me from the mountain with your personal seal?”

            “The Princess is missing,” the Queen whispered. “We’ve released very little information to protect the situation. It’s imperative we play our cards close.”

            Jellal’s heart crashed messily in his chest. He could not afford to spill all the contents of his head and heart on the floor of the room so he quickly walled himself off.

            “She’s… a headstrong woman and, if memory serves, she’s taken off on flights of fancy before.”

            “She has,” the Queen agreed, eyeing him sharply. “This is different.”

            Jellal leaned his hip against the edge of the table and waited for an explanation. _Any_ explanation.

            “There’s a new magic guild in Crocus. They call themselves the God Slayers.”

            “I’ve heard of it.” He couldn’t stop the grin from crawling across his face at her surprise. “I don’t live in isolation, Your Majesty. I do hear gossip wild enough to creep up the mountainside.”

            “What’s your assessment?”

            Jellal sighed and shook his head. “Trickery, I assumed. God slayer magic seems like a gimmick.”

            “You sound skeptical. Aren’t you supposed to be a priest?”

            Jellal’s expression flattened. “Let’s not play word games, Your Majesty. I believe in the heavens because that is the nature of my magic. I’ve seen celestial wizards call upon spirits to do their fighting for them. I’ve read of curses so dark, so disused, I’m not even sure if they’re real. But _god slaying_ magic? No. A god would have to be _real_ to be slain.”

            The Queen said nothing but her eyes pricked at him.

            “By _real_ I mean corporeal. I don’t throw my prayers into a void, Your Majesty,” he whispered.

            “I believe you,” she said in a breath. “Or, rather, I would’ve. There’s been _things_ happening on the fourth hill, Jellal. The skies have darkened enough at times to make me wonder if you’d returned in a fury. I’ve never felt such strong magic. Not even yours has borne down upon us with such pressure.”

            Jellal’s skin crawled. The Queen was a known sorceress. Her skill was second to none and it was that _skill_ and power of recognition that had landed him in her gardens as a dirty, lost little boy to begin with. Her obvious fear turned his guts cold.

            “And now the Princess is missing?” he finally asked. “Are these things related?”

            The Queen scowled and refilled her wine glass. “Erza has been restless. She clashed publically with a member of my Spriggan Guard.”

            Jellal’s fingers twitched. Anyone who clashed with Erza would’ve crawled away in pieces.

            “Dimaria has been reprimanded. She was here before, do you remember?”

            “The one with Brandish?” Jellal bristled. “I don’t like her. Why did you keep her on after she fought with the Princess?”

            “There’s something odd about her and I can’t quite identify it,” the Queen admitted. “She’s being watched.”

            “By Brandish?”

            “Publically, yes. Privately… there are others.”

            “Do you think she’s responsible for your daughter’s disappearance?”

            “I don’t know.” The Queen sighed frustratedly and raked a hand through her hair. The gesture left Jellal feeling unsettled. “Perhaps I’ve grown complacent. After you left the city things were… quiet. I want to know what happened to the peace we all sacrificed so deeply for. I want you to figure it out and I want you to be quiet about it.”

            “I don’t see why you’ve come to _me,_ Your Majesty.”

            Her glare could’ve wilted even the sturdiest of trees. “I thought we weren’t playing word games?” she snapped dangerously. “Have you filled your bed with someone else after all these years?”

            Jellal’s mouth opened and then shut again uselessly. “No.”

            “I thought not. You can arm yourself with whomever you choose. I trust Ultear, if my opinion counts for anything at all.”

            “And why is that, Your Majesty?”

            “Because _you_ trust her, Little Lost Prince,” she said in a tone he’d never thought her capable of. “I’ve told you all I know. Find my daughter, Jellal. _Please.”_


	4. Chapter 4

            He took a mostly disused passage out of the palace and eventually found himself on the lower canal side of the seventh hill. The canals brought fresh river water in and out of the city. Once he’d been lifted beyond The Troughs, Jellal was easily romanced by the cement barriers and dim yellow lamps of the canal streets. It was both modern and endearingly quaint. The choice to revisit the area wasn’t simple nostalgia, though. These streets were the quickest route to the second hill – home of the assassins guilds. Of all the hills in Crocus, this one he’d felt most resembled a home. Jellal’s feet still found their way to Crime Sorciere’s doors with little guidance from his eyes.

            Crime Sorciere stood on the palace side of the hill somewhere in the middle between crest and trough. Her walls were of modest grey brick and the wooden doors were still bolted together with the same brass fittings he remembered. Under any other circumstance, Jellal would’ve appreciated the lack of change. He glanced up at the corner tower and confirmed a pair of eyes watching him. That tower had been his once upon a time.

            As he approached the doors, Ultear slithered from the shadows. Her midnight hair caught the moonlight and she watched him closely.

            “I see you survived your visit with Her Majesty. Or does your garb hide the scars of disembowelment?”

            “I survived,” he said dryly. Ultear leaned back against the outer wall beside the doors. “Do you have work tonight?”

            “Nothing I don’t mind ditching.”

            “I need provisions.”

            She smirked. “If that’s your way of ingratiating yourself to me –”

            Jellal snorted derisively. “I wouldn’t proposition _you_ if my life depended on it,” he quipped. “It’s been a long day, Ultear. I need clothes.”

            “I can help with that but it’ll cost you.”

            Jellal set his mouth in a grim line and waited. Ultear was tedious. Unlike the Queen she liked her games.

            “I want to know what’s going on.”

            “Clothes first.”

            “Fair enough,” she said with a nod and shrug. Ultear shoved off the wall and began to make her way back down the street away from Crime Sorciere. The second hill, despite its bloody business, didn’t actually house Crocus’s darkest corners and shadows – _that_ was reserved for the fourth and third hills. Magic and pleasures of the flesh often brushed against one another in ways that most people wouldn’t dare to contemplate.

            On the second hill, class wasn’t easily defined or visible. Ultear was a perfect example of a book’s cover not belying its pages. Her mother had been a rather high-ranking mage. She’d held the title of Wizard Saint until her untimely death when Ultear was still too young to care for herself. They’d both found Crime Sorciere at the tender age of nine. Once she’d proved herself a competent assassin, she no longer needed the mountain of gold her mother left behind. She regularly commanded a sum that would put most assassins on her level to shame but still chose to live below mid-hill. She didn’t want too much attention. Ultear reveled in ambiguity. Jellal hadn’t ever asked where she squirreled away her fortune.

            Ultear occupied a flat on the top floor of a defunct guildhall. Ultear had always preferred old things. Not the things she’d shriveled and destroyed herself, but things that were already old. Things near crumbling. Inside the flat was a mess Jellal expected. Expensive clothes were draped on nearly every surface. Any assassin worth their salt could creep down a hallway and take a life but Ultear _loved_ the chase. She liked to convolute things and seduce and draw a person’s darkest secrets from their lips before spilling their blood. The scraps of glittering fabrics and silks proved she hadn’t changed much.

            “Still messy as ever,” he remarked once the door was shut behind him. “I don’t know how you can find anything under all this.”

            Ultear laughed high and light. This was _real._ “We can’t all be ascetics.”

            “I’m not an ascetic,” he muttered.

            “You should be thanking me,” she said, shedding her cloak and the shirt beneath it on her way to her bedroom.

            “And why’s that?”

            “Because,” Ultear called back at him. “I have exactly what you need.” When she reemerged, she’d changed into something tight and black that covered her from neck to foot. Her boots nearly came up to her knees and the two knives strapped to her thigh were as sleek as they were deadly. In her hands was a cloak he recognized.

            “Where did you manage to dig this up?” he asked with a grin. Ultear held it toward him.

            “I knew you’d be back.” She smiled as he shook out the cloak and ran his fingers over the blue wool with its silver piping. Not all of Crime Sorciere’s members were awarded such finery. Like Ultear, Jellal was a capable assassin. “I’ve got other things that should fit you, too. I left them out on my bed. Go change and then you can spill your guts.”

            “Thank you, Ultear,” Jellal said with sincerity. Her bedroom was just as disheveled as the sitting room. Jellal tried not to touch too many of her things and left the last of his quiet mountain life in a pile on the floor.

            When he rejoined her, the smell of food drew a rumble from his stomach. Ultear breezed past him and deposited two bowls of noodles on her dining table.

            “There’s a vendor just above The Troughs on the first hill who makes these from scratch,” she said, taking a seat and poking at the noodles. Jellal fell into the chair opposite her. “He’s underselling them.”

            The flavor of the broth overwhelmed him. “We don’t have food this rich in the mountains.”

            Ultear said nothing more and they ate in silence. When her bowl was empty, she pushed it away and folded her arms on the table in front of her. Jellal sighed.

            “The Princess is missing,” he finally said.

            “Well, stop the presses,” Ultear deadpanned. “I had _no_ idea.”

            “Tell me about the God Slayers.”

            Ultear quirked an eyebrow. “They’re a new guild on the fourth hill,” she said slowly. “Pretty low to The Troughs for what they claim to be capable of.”

            “Only if you assume them to be after prestige.”

            “That’s true,” Ultear nodded. “Except they’re ostentatious about their magic. About a month before the Princess went missing they put on quite the show.”

            “The Queen mentioned it.”

            “Did she tell you the sky went black and it felt like we could all _taste_ the stars?”

            “Something like that.”

            “Jellal,” she demanded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

            “One of the Spriggan Guards is being watched.”

            “Let me guess,” Ultear said knowingly. “Dimaria? She and the Princess had a bit of a throw down this summer.”

            “The Queen doesn’t trust her.”

            “Shocking.”

            _“I_ don’t trust her. There’s something about her that’s not quite right.”

            Ultear shrugged. “She’s a loose canon.”

            “Why’s she a Spriggan, then?”

            “Because she’s powerful, I guess. The crown isn’t exactly forthcoming when it comes to how they select the guard.”

            “I’m told Brandish is watching her.”

            “Is that so?” Ultear asked airily.

            “You knew?”

            “I know a lot of things, Jellal.”

            Jellal sighed loudly and Ultear rolled her eyes.

            “You’re no fun anymore. Yes, I know Brandish is on Dimaria’s tail. Brandish and I have a standing appointment, plus she follows her everywhere. They’re extremely visible.”

            “You’re shameless,” Jellal admonished.

            “Whatever. Look, Brandish isn’t a fool. If she’s watching Dimaria, whatever she’s hiding will come out eventually. Brandish is bored but observant and loyal.”

            “Do you trust her?”

            “Not really. She’s a Spriggan Guard. Her interests aren’t the same as mine. As you well know, Jellal, not all my work is above board. I try to keep our meetings on point.”

            Jellal waved his hand dismissively. “The Queen thinks the God Slayers have something to do with Erza’s disappearance.”

            When Ultear didn’t respond right away, Jellal glanced up. He found her smile had stretched and sharpened.

            “Is it still _Erza?”_ she asked quietly.

            “I want you to help me with this,” Jellal hedged. “I can bring in whoever I want. Do you trust Meredy and Erik?”

            “Erik is a stuffy ass but I trust him.”

            “Then why did we avoid the guild tonight?” Jellal swooped in with the question he’d been sitting on since she’d diverted him away from Crime Sorciere earlier that evening.

            “Because the tide is coming in, Jellal,” she said in a tone he didn’t care for. “Things are changing. Meredy and Erik I trust with my life but there’s others who would do better not to see you.”

            Jellal met her eyes squarely and he saw things that left him as cold as he’d been in the Queen’s private hole behind the throne room.

            “And why is that?”

            “You know gossip is bought and sold in The Troughs.” Ultear’s stare burned a hole through him. “I’ve heard some things. Old things. New things. Lost things that were found and lost again. A whisper can be quite expensive.”

            “Ultear –”

            “Not now,” she hissed. “Not even here.”

            Jellal stared down at the broth that had long cooled and congealed in his bowl. “We need to go as soon as possible, then.”

            “Where to?” She stood and pulled an identical cloak to his from a surprisingly tidy closet.

            “The fourth hill. I need to have a conversation with a dragon.”

* * *

 

            Jellal hadn’t ever been a scholar of civics. He didn’t know what the ratio of non-magical citizens was to mages. There wasn’t discord over it as far as he could tell. Most often, mages provided a service that a person – non-magical or otherwise – was more than willing to pay for. There were _some_ guilds, however, that held themselves above anyone else. Jellal suspected that despite their level on the fourth hill, the God Slayers were of the arrogant ilk.

            One of the oldest magic guilds in the city was made up of a different type of slayer. Drgaons hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years but the dragon slayers still wore their title proudly and held their secrets close. It was a point of national pride that Fiore hosted the _only_ mages who could use dragon slaying magic on the continent of Ishgar. They were afforded a great deal of leniency when it came to regulations imposed on other guilds – this was largely due to the fact that a handful of dragon slayers hadn’t been born with their abilities. These mages had been subjected to experiments and surgeries and implantations of government made lacrima. The Magic Council didn’t like the concessions but rarely stepped on the toes of the cantankerous guild master Jellal very much wanted to see.

            Laxus Dreyar’s face was a study in discontent. The scar that cut across his eye and cheek gave him an intimidating visage Jellal knew was mostly bluster. Laxus wrangled an unruly crowd and probably had a calendar in his office with a countdown to retirement – not that he _could_ actually retire, as there was no one to take his place. Fairy Tail, aptly named for the fact that there were no dragons to slay, was notoriously rowdy and destructive. Jellal wondered if Laxus would simply work until he fell over dead.

            Fairy Tail’s guildhall was brightly lit and held an air of legitimacy that simply didn’t exist on the second hill. As they neared the building, Ultear disappeared into the shadows but Jellal hadn’t the patience for sneaking. He walked through the front door without pretense. Jellal spotted Laxus’s perpetually messy hair across the hall and no one stopped him from approaching.

            “I see you’re still wearing the most appalling furs,” Jellal muttered, sliding onto a barstool and signaling the barkeep for a drink. “How is it not matted and filthy by now?”

            “I should check your fingernails,” Laxus growled. “I hear digging produce from that mountain soil can give a person worms.” He glanced over at Jellal. “Or at the very least leave you looking like a peasant.”

            “It’s good to know my personal business has made it to three out of the seven hills.”

            Laxus snorted into his cup. “After that ruckus you and the Princess caused, your absence was noted.”

            “Ruckus is a strong word.”

            Laxus spun around to face him fully and Jellal bit back a grin. “You crashed a masquerade ball to piss on Her Royal Highness the Princess of Fiore’s leg for no reason other than it made your dick hard to do it.”

            “The folly of youth,” Jellal said with a shrug.

            “It was stupid,” Laxus murmured, polishing off his ale. “She was never going going to marry that oaf of a duke. Her ill advised romance with an assassin who had the ear of the Queen wasn’t a secret no matter what you told yourselves.”

            Jellal cringed. He was _painfully_ aware of how his relationship with the Princess was the worst kept secret in the royal city and beyond. Not that he regretted any of it – even if the end result had been taking a holy vow and stealing himself away to a mountain for seven years.

            “She’s missing.”

            “Hold on, let me get some pearls so I can clutch them in surprise you’ve suddenly turned up just in time to swoop in and save her.”

            “Erza hasn’t ever needed me to save her.”

            Laxus deflated. “That much is true.”

            “We need to have a chat.”

            “We’re chatting _now.”_

            “Not what I meant.”

            Laxus radiated irritation and Jellal simply absorbed it. He finished his own ale slowly enough for Laxus to burn off the initial rage of seeing him again. The other man suddenly stood, stalked the length of the bar, and didn’t glance back even once as he disappeared around the corner and into a hallway. Jellal left a tip for the barkeep on the bar and followed Laxus.

            Fairy Tail was built in an age of architecture that was hard to come by now. Her hallways were vast and sprawling. The guildhall had a fine front but her belly burrowed deep into the hill. Laxus suddenly came to a halt and leaned against a wall. He fished a rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it with a practiced hand.

            “What the fuck is going on?” Laxus demanded.

            “Why does everyone assume I know? You’re the second person to ask that of me today.”

            Laxus continued to eye him with open suspicion and Jellal dropped his front with a sigh.

            “I’m looking into the God Slayers.”

            “Bunch of self inflated assholes,” Laxus muttered. “They showed up here about a year ago and started poking around. Seemed to know a lot about how shit rolls for new comers, too.”

            “You think the guild is a front?”

            “Yeah. They’re way too familiar with the city.”

            “Maybe they’ve been skulking around The Troughs for years and finally decided to make honest mages of themselves.”

            Laxus quirked an eyebrow and blew out a lungful of smoke thoughtfully. “You think a guild that openly turns the sky black with magic we don’t even home grow here is honest? I know you know better than that.”

            “About that,” Jellal glanced back down the hallway and folded his arms across his chest. “What exactly happened?”

            “Sometime this last summer they all got together and blacked out the sun.” Laxus’s eyebrows drew together. “Here’s the fucking weird part, though. Their guild is tiny. I’m takin’ maybe six people at most. Now, how the fuck do six people pull some shit like that? And _why?_ ”

            Jellal’s gaze fell to his feet. _He_ could blacken the sky if he wanted. In truth, he hadn’t ever really pushed his limits to find out what exactly he was capable of. He’d never needed to. Jellal decided to take a risk.

            “I could.”

            “Come again?” Laxus demanded.

            “I could do that.” He glanced up to find, for the first time, Laxus’s face etched with something that wasn’t laced with frustration. “I could turn the sky black and make everybody think gravity was about to crush them.” Jellal shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I could anyway.”

            “You’ve always been a strange duck, Jellal. You a God Slayer? Is that what you’re saying?”

            “No.” Jellal blew out an irritated sigh. “And I don’t think whatever they did that day was god slaying magic.”

            “About a month after they pulled that shit the Princess got into it with one of the Spriggan Guards. You hear about that?”

            “Dimaria, yeah. I’ve heard she’s a loose canon.”

            “She’s something alright, I’m just not sure what.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Laxus shrugged and dropped the spent cigarette to the wood planked floor. He snubbed it out with the toe of his boot. “Mirajane will smell this shit a mile away. She’ll flay me for smoking in a hallway with no ventilation.”

            “She hasn’t figured out she can do better than you yet?”

            Laxus’s grin was sloppy but sharp. “Nope.” He glanced back the way they’d come and stiffened. “Hey, why don’t you take the back way out? There’s a great view of the sky.”

            Laxus suddenly spun on his heel and left Jellal alone in the hallway. Jellal stared after him for a long moment before following the walls with the tips of his fingers searching for the grooves that would lead him outside.

            After a brief, disorienting moment in pitch dark, Jellal found himself on the empty stretch of embankment that would curve upward around the hill to the higher levels. Jellal stood on the lip of the embankment and snorted. The view wasn’t any better than it might be from the roof of Fairy Tail.

            A rustle behind him caught his attention. Ultear grinned at him from the edge of a small hydrangea grove. When she stepped from the shadows a young girl followed behind her. She clutched a white cat with golden eyes against her chest and her face was a mask of fear.

            “While you were steeping yourself in cheap tobacco and ale I ran into a little sky maiden,” Ultear said softly. The girl glanced up at Ultear and back at Jellal. She couldn’t have been more than twelve.

            Jellal pursed his lips. View of the sky, _indeed._


	5. Chapter 5

_The mask obscured his view of the night sky but he’d made a commitment. Its sequined edges itched the apples of his cheeks when he grinned up at the stars. His mind drifted back to a different time and a different place._

_Swirling dresses and the uplifting tempo of a string quartet had filled the ballroom so thickly the party spilled out into the night. Jellal remembered watching the festivities from the shadows. His parents, so obviously in love, spun around the dance floor. The jewels adorning his mother’s dress caught every flicker of light and she sparkled. At the end of the dance his father bowed deeply and, instead of kissing the backs of her fingers like a proper gentleman was expected to do, he took her hand in both of his and left a kiss on her open palm. All of the young ladies present giggled into their feathered fans._

_Jellal wondered what his parents might think of him schmoozing his way into a royal party just to upset a stuffy young duke who had his eye on the Princess._

_“You’re a fool,” a voice from behind him said. Her dress was dark and dangerous – just like her._

_“Maybe.”_

_“There’s no maybe about it.”_

_Jellal hopped off the edge of the garden wall and watched Ultear adjust her elbow high gloves._

_“You’re still here, though.”_

_“Only because no one else has the stones to tell you the truth about this ridiculous plan.”_

_“I’m lucky to have you.”_

_“You are,” Ultear snapped, reaching between her precariously elevated breasts and repositioning whatever tools of danger she kept hidden there. “You’re also incredibly impulsive and stupid.”_

_“Has there ever been a better reason to do a thing?” Jellal grinned and attempted to brush past her into the empty maid’s quarters they’d chosen as a staging area. Ultear’s hand shot out and she grasped his wrist painfully._

_“You know you can’t keep her, right?” she whispered. “All of these stolen moments and this grand gesture of idiocy won’t mean anything when the time comes for her to marry. Please tell me you know that.”_

_So many words were perched on the edge of his tongue. In his most love drunk and delusional moments Jellal thought maybe he could convince the Queen to allow him her daughter’s hand… if he gave up his freedom. An assassin marked with visible runes could never marry the Princess. He’d need to be a prince for that. Was he ready to be a prince? And if he were ready, what would that look like?_

_Jellal pushed all that aside, grinned, and reached into his jacket for Ultear’s mask. Like her gown, it was black satin but had less of a profile. His needed to cover the marks on his face but Ultear had no such requirements. She took it from him but not without a cutting glare. Ultear was very, very good at cutting._

_The Princess’s dress was white and when paired with her scarlet hair it set her apart from everyone else. Once he found her, Jellal was unable to look away._

_There was a proper form to the evening. She had a dance card and was meant to spend time in the arms of her suitor more than once. Jellal’s presence, despite his mask, was like a landslide on the evening. Once his gloved hand closed around her bicep, she didn’t leave his side for an amount of time that caused audible whispers. The Queen said nothing but Jellal felt her gaze acutely and wondered how she’d punish him later._

_“Leave with me,” he whispered into the Princess’s ear._

_“I can’t,” she replied but he knew the lift in the corner of her mouth. She would but only for the right promise._

_“We’ll slip off one of the balconies. No one will notice.”_

_“No one will notice?” she scoffed. “Explain how no one will notice the Princess absconding with a known assassin who has deeply offended the visiting Duke by monopolizing my time.”_

_“I don’t care about the Duke.” His lips fell to a spot behind her ear he knew would bring chills to her arms._

_“Your plan is to jump off the balcony ledge? A romantic death for us both?”_

_“You underestimate me, Erza,” he breathed, leaving a kiss on the curve of her neck._

_“My mother will be outraged.”_

_“Will she?” His arm inched further around her waist than what was entirely appropriate or necessary. She glanced over her shoulder at the furthest balcony door that stood open on the far wall. Jellal didn’t have to follow her gaze to know Ultear was lurking nearby, ready to distract anyone who wandered too close._

_“Lead us behind the Duchess Realite and her layers and layers of pink tulle. If you time it right we can slip out the door.”_

_“I have excellent timing,” he said softly, letting his hand slide up her back to the bare skin exposed by a dip in her dress._

_Calibrating his meteor spell for more than one person without tearing them to shreds had taken a lot of work. Jellal spent hours zipping around The Troughs in parkour-like fashion trying to get it just right. When he and Erza landed back on the garden wall outside the empty maid’s quarters without ruining her dress, Jellal’s chest puffed with pride. Erza grinned up at him and held to his arm tightly as she kicked off her heels before hopping off the wall._

_“You do have pretty impressive timing. Well practiced, anyway. Is that the same spell that got you into some trouble over on the third hill?” she asked smugly._

_“That, Your Highness, wasn’t my fault.” Jellal followed her off the wall and just inside the maid’s quarters._

_“Mm, that’s not what I heard.”_

_“By the time a scrap of gossip finds its way up to the palace, I don’t imagine there’s much truth left,” he said softly, his arm circling her waist again._

_“I enjoy every crumb, Jellal. Though,” her smile dimmed briefly. “I do sometimes wish I could hear things from you and not from giggling handmaidens.” Her hands smoothed the lapels of his jacket and brushed over the pearl buttons of his shirt. Erza pulled the mask from his face and tossed it aside. “Maybe one day we’ll fly farther away? Someplace where I’m not a princess and you’re not an assassin?”_

_Jellal touched the edge of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes were pleading him for things he felt were both out of and exactly in his control. How selfish of a man was he? Instead of answering her, he kissed her and tried very hard not to rumple her dress while getting it off her body. It would be a shame after he’d worked so hard on the way down._

* * *

 

            Jellal ran his hands over his face. The little girl’s expression was so earnest he couldn’t tell her to run away before she would no longer be able to. The white cat in her arms glared at him and he was half tempted to glare right back.

            “Please,” she said in a small voice. “I want to help. I’m worried about Chelia. Natsu said that Laxus said you’d listen to me.” The white cat curled her tail around the little girl’s wrist possessively.

            “We need to get out of the street. Someplace without eyes,” Ultear whispered.

            “The entire city has eyes,” Jellal sighed. He approached the girl and knelt in front of her. “What’s your name?”

            “Wendy,” she replied softly.

            “How old are you, Wendy?”

            “Fourteen,” she said even quieter. “I’m just small for my age. Please let me help.”

            Jellal’s mind wheeled. He remembered being small and desperate once too. “Is this your cat?”

            “Carla is my companion. She helps keep me safe.”

            The white cat eyed Jellal with reservation. Her golden eyes were otherworldly. He’d heard of the Exceeds with their aera magic and telepathic abilities but he’d never come so close to one.

            “What does Carla think about all this stuff going on?”

            “She doesn’t like you,” Wendy admitted. “But only because she thinks you’re dangerous.”

            “Carla is right.” Jellal poked at the bits of wood chips that had escaped the hydrangea grove.

            “Maybe so but Chelia needs help and nobody knows her like I do.”

            “Who is Chelia?”

            “She’s a God Slayer,” Wendy breathed. She glanced up and down the road as Carla’s tail flipped. Jellal’s eyes flit up to Ultear who pursed her lips. She jerked her chin over her shoulders toward the grove. Jellal stood.

            “We need to get out of the street. I’d hate for you to be seen with us. I’m –”

            “An assassin, I know,” she stated flatly. “Natsu told me you know the Princess.”

            “Natsu has a pretty big mouth,” Jellal said. He remembered the wild dragon slayer with the pink hair very well.

            Wendy finally smiled. “He does.”

            Ultear led the way into the grove, which was just a small cluster of very large hydrangea bushes that backed up to another stone embankment. Jellal recognized the iron railings on the next level up. Fairy Hills was a source of income for Laxus in the form of a women’s dormitory. The rent was steep but the security and privacy was top notch. He supposed a conversation shrouded in globs of hydrangea blooms between Fairy Tail and Fairy Hills was as private as they’d ever get. Jellal would never be allowed inside the building – even if Wendy _did_ have an apartment there.

            “Tell me about Chelia,” Jellal said, crouching again amongst the blooms. “How do you know her?”

            “She’s… a friend.” Wendy hesitated and her cheeks flushed pink. “Maybe a little more than that.”

            “We won’t betray your confidence, little sky maiden,” Ultear said, leaning against the wall.

            “Chelia is younger than the rest of them. She’s only a year older than me. We met at the Festival of Colors last spring.”

            “And what has you so worried?” Jellal asked.

            “She always said the God Slayers weren’t as awful as all the gossip. She said people are only afraid of their power but they would never hurt anyone.” Wendy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But then they turned the sky black and threatened to bring down the heavens.”

            The hair on Jellal’s arms stood on end. “Is that the language they used?” he pressed. “Did they say they were bringing down the heavens?”

            Wendy blinked then nodded. “One of them said that. Their leader, Orga, I think. He likes to drink and Laxus says he’s got a loose jaw. Lots of people heard him say it at that pub down by The Troughs on the palace side.”

            Jellal glanced up at Ultear who stared at him with a hard expression to gage.

            “And what happened to Chelia?”

            “She told me Orga just talks big but then she didn’t show up at our spot that day. I was in the lantern square waiting for her when everything went dark. It felt… it was so heavy.” Wendy’s voice was hardly even a whisper. Carla readjusted herself in Wendy’s arms. “She chose her guild over me. She _lied!_ Why would she do that? Chelia would never have lied to me.”

            “A guild bond is a powerful thing,” Ultear said softly. “Would you lie for Natsu?”

            Wendy chewed her lip. “Yes, but that’s different. The God Slayers aren’t family like we are. They’re just not.” She wiped at a stray tear before sucking in a deep breath. “Maybe four or five weeks later the Princess was here on the hill.”

            Jellal’s eyebrows shot up. “Here? Here on the fourth hill, you mean?”

            “Yes. She had two of the Spriggan Guards with her. Lady Brandish, and Lady Dimaria.”

            “What were they doing here?”

            “I don’t know but things got out of control. I still wait for Chelia sometimes in the lantern square. She never comes but I still wait. I heard shouting on my way there. Natsu told me to go back to the guild but I didn’t listen. Zancrow was making a scene near the holy fountains.”

            “What kind of scene?”

            “He –” Wendy glanced up at Ultear. “He was shouting at the Princess. He, um, he was saying things he really shouldn’t have. Stuff about… parts of her.”

            “Catcalling?” Ultear said with a laugh. “Zancrow was catcalling the Princess? That’s awful brave of him.”

            “He never used to prowl around the fourth hill until after they turned the sky black. He spent most of his time on the third hill.” Carla yowled in an ugly tone. “Yes, I know,” Wendy snapped at the cat. “But it doesn’t help anyone if I leave things out!”

            “So Zancrow has a _special_ way with the ladies?” Ultear drawled.

            “I think he thinks he does,” Wendy said, scowling. “Lady Brandish caught him with the end of her blade but she really isn’t much of a swordswoman.”

            “Not like the Princess,” Jellal muttered.

            “It was all so strange.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, Lady Brandish was hopping mad that day. Just _furious_. Lady Dimaria stopped the Princess from confronting Zancrow. She went to far as to restrain her.”

            Jellal blew a puff of air from his lungs. He’d learned for himself what happened to a person who got between the Princess and whomever she wanted skewered on the end of her sword.

            “Zancrow never moved even once but there was a long moment where the Princess and Lady Dimaria didn’t move either. They both just stared at each other with swords drawn – I’m pretty sure the Princess could’ve run her through whenever she wanted – and then Lady Dimaria lunged forward all of the sudden. Lady Brandish had to pull her off the Princess.” Wendy sighed and shrugged. “It was like watching a badly timed ballet.”

            Jellal’s heart skipped a beat and he suddenly looked up at Wendy. “What did you just say?”

            “Uh, Lady Brandish –”

            “No, the other part. The last thing you said.”

            “I – I said it was like watching dancers who didn’t practice their timing before taking the stage.”

            Jellal ran his hands over his face for the second time that evening. He felt as though he was looking at a puzzle that _should_ make sense but didn’t.

            “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us, Wendy.”

            “Are you trying to find out what’s going on with the God Slayers?” she asked quietly. “Do you think Chelia is okay?”

            “My job is to find out what’s happened to the Princess,” Jellal insisted gently. “But I promise you I’ll keep an eye out for your friend.”

            “Thank you,” she breathed. Wendy turned back to the street but hesitated. “Carla says rumors are mostly lies with only a grain of truth.”

            “I’d agree with her in that regard,” Jellal offered.

            “I heard from Natsu you came a long way to find the Princess. I hope –” Wendy paused and clutched Carla tighter as if in defiance. “I hope you find her. It’s not right to be away from the people – _person_ – you love.”

            Wendy disappeared into the hydrangea bushes and Jellal didn’t stand until the sound of her shoes hitting the street disappeared.

            “She’s an observant little girl,” Ultear said with a laugh. “What do you think of her story?”

            “I think whatever they’re watching Lady Dimaria for is a waste of time.”

            “Maybe.” Ultear shoved off the wall and pulled the hood of her cloak over her midnight hair. “I’m guessing you’ll want to pay a visit to the third hill now?”

            Jellal sighed deeply. “I don’t think there’s any way around it.”


	6. Chapter 6

            Once he’d grown into self-sufficiency, Jellal hadn’t gone out of his way to spend much time on the third hill despite being inextricably tied to it. The third hill took pride in the classism blatantly on display. Patrons could easily tell their position on the hill simply by paying attention to their surroundings. The quality of the fabrics hanging in the windows, the bangles and rings adorning the fingers and wrists that beckoned from beyond the doors, and the pungent scent of specially cured valley opium hanging in the air were all indicators of how much wealth saturated any given stretch of street.

            When Jellal arrived in Crocus he’d been whisked away to what he now knew to be an upper crust pillow house near the crest of the hill. The woman who’d snatched him from the spot where he’d been found sobbing and clutching at his mother’s cold hands had been one of his uncle’s concubines. She’d concealed his identity in her own silks and smuggled him from first the palace and then the country. He knew her only as Cassia and would always remember her soft voice, and scent of cinnamon.

            Jellal spent only two weeks in full hiding before sneaking out the veiled windows to dash around his new city. Most days he stayed away from the pillow house from dawn until dusk. Once he memorized every inch of The Troughs, where he could pretend to be anyone he wanted and quickly honed his skill for sharp untruths, he started moving upward to the crest of each hill and back down again.

            Cassia always welcomed him back in the late hours and scrubbed his nails free of dirt and washed the city from his hair. She promised him he could make whatever life he wanted for himself – and he’d believed her. Jellal didn’t doubt her words for a single second until the day a man with a cloak full of hidden daggers left her to bleed out in the ally behind the pillow house.

            He’d heard her screams from his nest of blankets beside her bed. Jellal remembered the brick, still wet with rain, beneath his bare feet as he tore along the wall surrounding the back garden. He’d been too distracted by her life slipping away into the cracks of the street to try and stop the man who reeked of stale opium smoke.

            Twice he’d watched a woman who cared for him die. His heart broke and the magic he’d tried so hard to repress leaked from the tips of his fingers. After that he got sloppy and, in hindsight, Jellal supposed he was lucky the Queen had spotted his unwieldy magic and not anyone else.

            He’d returned to the third hill only a few times since the death of Cassia and, though much older and fully capable now, he didn’t relish the reunion. Jellal wasn’t a man to seek out fuzzy thoughts in the arms of a woman he’d paid for. His soul belonged to _one_ woman and she was currently missing.

            “Do you think Zancrow is a crest of the hill type of man?” Ultear muttered from beneath her cloak.

            “Doubtful. A man with the gall to catcall the princess isn’t used to the touch of a refined woman.” Jellal’s eyes raked over the expanse of hill in front of him. “None of the pillow houses on the crest would tolerate a tongue like that.”

            “Not even a man with a heavy purse?”

            “No,” Jellal said firmly. “Wealth doesn’t guarantee you anything at the crest. The thirst of desperation fizzles somewhere just above mid-hill.”

            “You would be the expert,” Ultear teased. She liked to prod him about his childhood but only because he’d never shared details. Over the years she’d gathered a few crumbs – but only enough to poke fun.

            “Let’s get this over with.” Jellal pulled his hood further down over his face and took the high path that would bypass most of the lower level brothels. He didn’t harbor any disrespect for these workers, but he’d been desperate enough in his life for one thing or another, that he couldn’t stand to see the glint in anyone else’s eyes. Any one of them could’ve been Cassia or _would_ be Cassia before the run rose next.

            Jellal breathed a little easier when they passed the mid-point of the hill. Besides The Troughs, Crocus had another web of transportation. Cable cars could be taken from one hill to the next but the cost was steep and accidents weren’t uncommon. He could think of three times, at least, when cables had broken or been cut by competing builders guilds. Jellal had taken the cars only once and decided he’d much rather skulk in The Troughs than hang in the balance between hills. The third hill boasted four stations and they passed by three before Jellal glanced back at Ultear and ducked between two buildings.

            The sand colored stone buildings rose three stories and were covered in bright purple twilight violets. Strings of twinkling lights had been strung between the buildings to create just enough light to coax the flowers into bloom at all hours. Twilight violets carried a very specific scent and effect, and Jellal knew better than to breathe too deeply. As they neared the end of the alley, a young looking woman slid out of an open door. She glanced at them briefly before lighting her rolled cigarette and blowing a puff of air from her lungs. Her face looked different than when he’d seen her last but Jellal would recognize Madame Belladonna anywhere.

            “It’s been ages,” she said in a youthful voice not her own.

            “Not long enough,” Jellal murmured. Her lips did something just then that might’ve been a smile in another life. When the odd expression faded she sighed heavily.

            “I admit I did wonder how long it would be until you graced my walls again.” She sucked in a deep drag from her cigarette, which glowed a sickly green instead of red. “The city is all a flutter. How’s the business of blood going?” Madame Belladonna directed her words at Ultear.

            “There seems to be a never ending line of men who want other men dead.” Jellal didn’t have to turn to know Ultear’s grin was as sharp as the knives strapped to her thigh. “I’m happy to relieve them of their gold.”

            “Would that I weren’t so squeamish,” Madame Belladonna said wistfully, snubbing her cigarette out on the archway.

            “I didn’t know _squeamish_ was a word in your vocabulary, Madame,” Jellal quipped.

            “We all take our destructive pleasures differently,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t think this is the conversation you sought me out to have, though.”

            “No.”

            Madame Belladonna nodded and motioned for them to follow her into the building. The walls were painted a deep, muted red and everything was framed by black walnut. She’d always loved her rich darkness. The room she led them into was vast but appeared very small and suffocating because every wall was lined with shelves filled to the edges with bottles, books, sachets, and tied hanks of this or that. The door closed on its own behind Ultear – who planted herself as near it as possible. Jellal, more accustomed to the oddities of the third hill, circled the room once before leaning on the edge of one of the Madame’s many worktables.

            “You’re looking young and fresh-faced,” he remarked. Even in the candlelight her face was beautiful.

            “It’s one of my favorites,” Madame Belladonna said vainly. “I wear it when I’m expecting special company.”

            “Should I ask how you knew I’d be here tonight?”

            “I don’t know, Jellal, should you?” His name rolled off her tongue.

            “I’ve come to inquire after a God Slayer with a big mouth,” he offered instead.

            “He’s filth,” she hissed. “All the girls below the stations whisper his name in fear. They come to me with their coins begging to have their scars removed.”

            “He cuts them?” Jellal asked, his hands balling into fists. Madame Belladonna stripped him down with her eyes.

            “No, lost boy, he burns them.”

            _“Why?”_

            She shrugged. “Who knows why men do the things they do.” Madame Belladonna paced the length of the room with atypical unease. “Zancrow is _a_ problem but not _your_ problem.”

            “He’s a God Slayer, and therefore my problem.”

            “Is it the God Slayers you believe to have abducted the Princess?” Her smile was patronizing. “A woman like that isn’t easily stolen.”

            “No,” Jellal said, shifting against the table. “If you know something, _anything –”_

            “I know no more than _you_ ,” she said with the same odd smile as before. Jellal sighed and was reminded how much he hated games. Would he forever be surrounded by women much sharper and cleverer than him? “Tell me, how do your runes fare?”

            Jellal blinked in surprise. His runes?

            “They appear to be unharmed. You would come directly to me if something were to happen, yes?”

            The points and curls that covered the right side of his face tingled. Jellal’s hand moved instinctively to touch the runes. Madame Belladonna had been commissioned by the Queen herself to devise a way to make sure Jellal’s life was protected. Neither himself nor the Queen had ever told the Madame exactly who he was but Jellal didn’t think Madame Belladonna _ever_ needed to be _told_ anything.

            “Yes, of course,” he whispered. The runes woven into his skin had hurt like nothing else but their magic kept him safe. No one with ill intent would be able to recall his face once they turned away. _Prosopagnosia_ she’d called it. Jellal suspected the magic was more complex than he truly understood but at nearly twenty years and counting, he wouldn’t question its potency.

            Madame Belladonna circled him unnervingly. She saw him in a way he didn’t think any lesser sorceress ever could. Only the Queen pierced him so deeply with a gaze. Finally, she came to a stop directly in front of him. Her features almost bled into another face entirely. Jellal blinked and the youthful face he’d seen in the alley smiled.

            “Your life is my greatest accomplishment,” she whispered. “If only I were allowed to brag on it.” Madame Belladonna sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming to me about the God Slayer. It is, how they say, a cat scratching at the wrong window.”

            Jellal bristled. He didn’t like wasting time. When he turned back toward the door they’d come through, Ultear held a similarly impatient expression. Leaving took more energy that he felt like it should’ve.

            “Will you leave me with a benediction, Father?” Madame Belladonna’s voice was like a hook through the fabric of his cloak.

            “I’m not a true priest,” he muttered over his shoulder.

            “Perhaps not but you know my fondness for camp.”

            “When I find peace, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” The sound of Madame Belladonna’s laughter followed Jellal and Ultear all the way down the hall and through the alley still dripping with twilight violets in full bloom.

            Somewhere between Madame Belladonna’s workshop and the foot of the third hill, Jellal felt a pair of eyes on his back. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. In fact, according to the Madame, he shouldn’t have been visible for such a malicious gaze _at all._


	7. Chapter 7

_At first he thought it was a trick. Some method of sorcery the purpose of which he couldn’t understand. Why would the Queen need a double? Especially such a short tempered child-sized double who lost her balance and hacked angrily at a tree with a sword two times too big for her. Despite his misgivings, Jellal watched her from the garden wall with amused interest. She would never have noticed him at all if not for the flock of geese suddenly taking flight in the opposite garden and startling him so thoroughly into imbalance he tumbled from the wall._

_Jellal huffed and wrestled his way free of the shrubbery that broke his fall. He backed out of the tangle of branches on his hands and knees only to find himself on the business end of the girl’s blade. She scowled so fiercely he flinched._

_“Your Majesty,” he puffed, still catching his breath. “My apologies. I never meant –”_

_“My mother is Her Majesty,” the girl snapped, nearly poking him in the chin. “You may address me as Your Highness.”_

_Jellal offered her his open palms in surrender and confusion. He hadn’t been aware that the Queen had a daughter. How could such an important bit of information have escaped him? Nearly two years had passed since the Queen fished him out of The Troughs and offered him refuge. He still wasn’t sure about the runes on his face but he’d assigned some brand of trust to his dealings with the Queen. He thought he knew everything there was to know!_

_“My apologies, Your Highness,” he offered with a grin. “I would bow in respect but –” Jellal glanced down at her sword. “I’m sure you understand.”_

_The girl flushed and pulled her sword back but her embarrassment was fleeting. “What are you doing spying in the royal gardens? I could have you hung from the walls.”_

_“I suppose you could,” he said, chancing a wider grin. “But I beg of Your Highness to summon the Queen before ordering my execution. She might have something to say about it.”_

_“And why is that?” she asked haughtily._

_“We…” Jellal trailed off. He wasn’t sure just how much he should reveal to a princess who wielded a sword. “We have an arrangement.”_

_The Princess narrowed her eyes but lowered her blade. “Fair enough. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re spying on me.”_

_“I assure you, Your Highness, it wasn’t on purpose. I had no idea you’d be here. I was only fearful for the life of this poor, battered tree. The geese blew me off the wall.”_

_“You mean they startled you off the wall.”_

_“Semantics.”_

_The Princess regarded him intently. “Are you a mage?”_

_“Somewhat,” he hedged._

_“Your cloak has an apprentice mark.” She began to circle him and he decided he didn’t mind her gaze._

_“We all start somewhere.” She completed her circle and stood directly in front of him. “Not all of us have the luxury of being born into royalty.” The lie stung the tip of his tongue but he stuffed the feeling away. He wasn’t a prince anymore._

_“Who is your teacher? What is your trade?”_

_Jellal laughed lightly and held open one flap of his cloak. Her eyes dropped to the scabbard strapped to his thigh._

_“You’re an assassin.”_

_“Not quite yet.”_

_“Have you come to banter with me before taking my life?” she demanded. On impulse, Jellal reached for her hand and bowed deeply to kiss the backs of her fingers._

_“I would never dream of destroying something precious to Her Majesty the Queen.” He released her and took two quick steps back, his meteor spell collecting quietly in his knees. “Though yours is almost it’s own shade entirely, scarlet hair has quite possibly become my favorite of all.”_

_Jellal whooshed backwards and perched on the garden wall. Before he could be reprimanded for his sharp-tongued insolence, he turned and nearly flew all the way back down the seventh hill._

* * *

 

            The sound of pigeons flapping their wings dragged him from a fitful sleep. Jellal rolled over onto his back and landed on the hardwood floor of Ultear’s flat. He sat up and blinked in confusion for a solid five seconds.

            “You’ve been out of the game for too long,” Ultear said with a laugh.

            “Your couch is an abomination.”

            “Well, in all fairness, I rarely use it for sleeping.” She grinned at him before turning back toward her small kitchen. Jellal scowled at the cushions he’d been sleeping on and felt an impulse to wash.

            Ultear’s bathroom was just as messy as the rest of her home but he did appreciate the hot water and her delicious smelling soaps. He felt refreshed and had to remind himself he was only back in Crocus for business. A small voice in the back of his mind chided him. Did he really think he could return to his mountain after all this? Jellal sank beneath the bathwater to shut the harassing voice out.

            Meredy’s laugh was the first thing he heard when he reentered the main sitting room. She was slowly picking apart a pastry from a baker’s box that hadn’t been there when Jellal sought out his bath.

            “For a moment there, I thought you’d drowned,” Ultear said lightly, nodding toward the box of pastries.

            “You smell delightful, Jellal,” Meredy laughed.

            “Yes, well, I’ll take delightful over the smell of road travel any time.” He picked over the pastries and settled on something fruity and sweet. The preserves in the center reminded him of all the things he’d tried to forget over the last seven years.

            “We should get going,” Meredy said, wiping the loose sugar from her fingers. “Erik is waiting.”

* * *

 

            Jellal thought the day deceptively beautiful. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky yet the air was sticky as if a rainstorm were on its way in. From the second hill he couldn’t see the southern horizon but he had a feeling it would be lined with dark clouds. The closer to The Troughs they drew, the heavier the air felt.

            When they reached the foot of the hill, the busy street that would eventually merge with five other streets and tangle in on itself became all Jellal could hear – everyone was selling something or looking to buy something or trying to get somewhere in a hurry. During the day Crocus wasn’t any more or less vibrant than at night but things felt _different_ when the sun illuminated the hidey-holes.

            “Erik said he’d be here at the crossing but he’s not,” Meredy huffed. She threw her hood back and glared up and down the street. Ultear leaned against a lamppost and used one of her smaller blades to clean her cuticles. Jellal could not squash the rising panic in his chest. _Something_ wasn’t right.

            “Maybe he found a lady to spend his night with and hasn’t rolled out of bed yet?” Ultear drawled.

            “I doubt that very much. Erik isn’t exactly suave and I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing for that girl at Rattler’s.”

            “Mm,” Ultear muttered disinterestedly. She glanced up at Jellal and watched him closely. He pursed his lips and paced.

            A rickshaw carrying two benches worth of chicken crates suddenly turned the corner and came barreling down the smaller road that led up the hill. The driver had a determined expression smeared on his face and he headed straight for Meredy. Jellal’s heart caught in his throat and his arm shot out to grab at Meredy’s cloak. She squealed and stumbled back into him just as the rickshaw crashed into a produce vendor still setting up his boxes of fruits. Chicken feathers and apples went everywhere. Ultear watched the messy scene with a look of disbelief and annoyance but her face suddenly smoothed into something hard. Jellal followed her gaze and finally found their missing man.

            Erik was crouched in the window of a pub that looked to have been burned out. The brick was charred with swaths of black and the windows were mostly framed by jagged points of broken glass. Only half the empty spaces had been boarded up and the work was visibly shoddy even across three busy streets. Erik had foregone his Crime Sorciere cloak and wore nothing but black. He made eye contact with Jellal before ducking back inside the building.

            “Let’s go,” Ultear said in a low voice. Meredy righted herself and glanced at Jellal in confusion. He nodded toward the burned out building and waited for her to follow Ultear before bringing up the rear.

            The empty building smelled like rotten, burned things. Like matches and cigarettes left to spoil in a glass of water. Jellal tried to keep his breaths as shallow as possible. The staircase leading up to the second floor was questionable but Jellal followed his companions. Erik was waiting for them in the far corner of what used to be a lodger’s room. The skeleton of a bed still sat broken against the wall. Erik’s eyes searched the city beyond the window.

            “So was that rickshaw driver your doing or does he just have an appalling lack of skill on the road?” Ultear asked with disgust.

            “I couldn’t approach you in the street,” Erik muttered. “I needed your attention.”

            “And why is that?” Jellal could feel Ultear’s irritation mounting.

            “Because there’s a price on your head and it’s me who’s been paid to collect.”

            Meredy gasped audibly. Jellal’s brow furrowed and Ultear _laughed._

            “You?” she demanded. “You couldn’t track me down if you tried.”

            “I could’ve slit your throat in your sleep at any point between the hours of three and seven this morning,” Erik bit out, still searching the street with his paranoid gaze.

            “Who would want to kill Ultear?” Meredy asked quietly.

            “I got my theories,” Erik grunted. “The job don’t have a name on it and the slip was in my box when I went to take off last night.” He finally looked away from the window to stab Ultear with a harsh expression. “You know shit’s been off lately. Can’t ignore it anymore.”

            “What do you mean by _off?”_ Jellal asked, sticking to the edges of the room.

            “I mean somethin’ stinks. The whole city’s off kilter.” Erik dug in his pockets for a cigarette. “I’d bet my good eye it’s those fuckin’ God Slayers, too. Somethin’ ain’t right. I can feel it.”

            “So someone wants me dead,” Ultear declared, planting her hands on her hips.

            “Yep. Wouldn’t recommend goin’ home either. Whoever put that slip in my box has to know by now that I haven’t taken you out when I could’ve.”

            “Someone from the guild? Do you think the slip came from within Crime Sorciere?” Jellal asked, still struggling to understand all the puzzle pieces in front of him.

            “Not sure. Could be that someone’s been paid off. Could be that our girl here just pissed off the wrong motherfucker.” He shot a glare at Ultear before turning his eyes back outside the window. “It’s not a stretch.”

            “It’s a stretch when you take into account that the two of you were recently sent to collect me from the Stella border.” Jellal said in a low voice that was in complete opposition to the chaos in his mind.

            “You wanna specify your word choice?” Erik snapped. “Let’s stop fuckin’ around here. This shit’s serious. I used to be a dragon slayer, I know you’re tight with Laxus. I know you got connections high up on the seventh hill. Lay it all out for us so I can decide if I should do me, Meredy, and Ultear a favor and gut you right here.”

            _“Erik –”_ Meredy gasped.

            “He’s right,” Ultear interjected. “Jellal needs to come clean.”

            Jellal’s heart felt as though it wanted to jump out of his throat. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room and the pinprick of each one. This was _supposed_ to be about the Princess. It wasn’t _supposed_ to have anything to do with him! The runes on his face were _supposed –_

“Let me help you out,” Ultear began. “I heard a rumor last winter. A very, _very_ interesting rumor.”

            “Ultear?” Meredy seemed to withdraw into herself. Jellal, not for the first time, wondered why she ran with assassins when her personality seemed to clash with the entire profession.

            “Something about a little lost boy who found his way over the mountains and into the city and somehow managed to gain the protection of the Queen.” She began to pace in front of him in a way Jellal very much did not like. “Don’t you think it’s weird that such a famously missing little boy just –” Ultear was suddenly right in front of him and snapped her fingers. _“Disappeared_ never to be found? Don’t you think it’s _weird,_ Erik?”

            Erik, not one for Ultear’s games, simply grunted and kept his gaze on the open window.

            “Some claimed to have seen the boy but couldn’t recall anything special about his face when asked later.” Ultear laughed. _“Asked_ isn’t really the right word, I suppose. Anyone who’d ask about a lost little star prince wouldn’t ask nicely.”

            “Prince?” Meredy asked slowly. “Jellal what is she talking about?”

            “I –” Jellal couldn’t breathe. He’d never wanted to have this conversation. His tongue felt too large for his mouth and completely dry.

            Before he could respond, and seemingly from thin air, a blonde woman appeared behind Ultear. Jellal jumped and his back pressed into the moldering wall behind him. Ultear spun around and startled.

            _“Fuck!”_ she screeched and fumbled for her knives.

            “Oh, hell,” Erik grabbed Meredy by the shoulder and shoved her behind him.

            The Spriggan Guard member held up her hands in a sign of surrender but she never took her eyes off Jellal and her grin never faded.

            “I thought I’d never catch up with you,” Dimaria said. “We need to have a chat. I’m afraid things have gone _terribly_ wrong.”


	8. Chapter 8

            Despite two blades on her and the nauseating scent of Erik’s poison, Dimaria’s arrogant grin never faltered.

            “How did you get in here?” Erik demanded.

            “I walked through the door,” she said with a shrug. “It was really quite easy. _Embarrassingly_ so. For _you_ , I mean.”

            Erik’s cloud of poison wafted toward her and, for the first time, Dimaria flinched.

            “I’m here to help,” she bit out, trying to avoid the ugly green magic. Ultear leaned in and regarded Dimaria closely.

            “Not even the Queen trusts you,” Ultear said in a low tone. “Why should _we?”_

            “Because the Queen is in the dark.” Dimaria hissed, trying to edge away from Ultear’s blade at her ribs while still avoiding Erik’s poison.

            “She Queen has you on watch.”

            “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Dimaria snapped.

            “Alright, alright,” Jellal interrupted, his patience finally running out. “Give her some space. This cloak and dagger game is tiresome.”

            _“Cloak and dagger?”_ Ultear scoffed. “Are you serious? If anyone should be explaining themselves –”

            “My _god,”_ Dimaria groused loudly. “Are _all_ assassins as messy as you three?”

            “Hey!” Meredy squawked.

            “Not you, love,” Dimaria said, throwing a grin over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re perfectly lovely. Your hair is absolutely _amazing_ by the way –” She sucked in another breath when Ultear jabbed her again.

            “Tell us how you poofed in here and why,” Ultear demanded.

            Dimaria settled her gaze on Jellal once more. “I’m a God Slayer.”

            The room was utterly silent and still. Only the sound of the city beyond the broken windows could be heard.

            “But you’re a –”

            “Spriggan Guard, yes, I’m aware. Do try and keep up.”

            “Why is a God Slayer on the Queen’s personal guard?” Jellal asked quietly.

            “I’ve been training specifically for this function.” Jellal felt a creeping rage. “Don’t act so offended. I’m just like _you._ I was taken from my home, made to watch everyone die, and told I could cooperate or let my family’s legacy fizzle out. I wasn’t lucky enough to be smuggled away and hidden under the loving wing of a redheaded Queen.”

            _“Why?”_ Jellal demanded and Dimaria rolled her eyes.

            “Why what?”

            “Why… _any_ of this? Why _you?”_

            “We’re wasting time but I’ll humor you. I’m the vessel of Chronos. It’s matriarchal. I carry the god’s power in my body and was supposed grow up, have my own brat, and pass it along to her. _Obviously_ that didn’t happen.”

            Jellal’s mind took him all the way back to his mother’s bright green eyes and her hand, cold and crusted with blood. _Not the same!_ His mind tried to rationalize it. _His_ family had been slaughtered for no reason at all other than politics he’d been too young to understand at the time, and too selfish – _distracted –_ to understand later. He wanted to question this woman at length but she was right. They didn’t have the time.

            “Listen,” Dimaria’s voice cleared his head. “There’s a long daisy chain of connections but by the time I made it to the Queen’s short list, no one would’ve been able to dig up the relation to Orga.”

            “You still haven’t answered my question.”

            “I was supposed to get my hands on the Princess,” she said with hesitancy. “And I was _supposed_ to turn her over to Orga.”

            “And what about that went terribly wrong?” Jellal asked slowly. _Dangerously._

            “They lied to me,” Dimaria whispered. “The whole thing is a pile of bullshit and I didn’t like it. I never signed on for something so… _big.”_

            “Define big.”

            “I can’t believe you don’t know,” she said, her face finally falling into a frown. “Did you really think you could just slink around without consequence? _You_ brought this demon down on Fiore! _Why_ did you never –”

            Something inside of Jellal broke. Something old. Something he’d tried very hard to bury.

            _“Because I was a child!”_ he roared.

            “So was I,” Dimaria said quietly.

            “If someone doesn’t explain this to me _right now –”_ Ultear growled.

            “He’s the Royal Prince of Stella,” Dimaria blurted. Jellal’s jaw clenched but he knew the revelation to be unavoidable.

            Despite all her earlier drama and bluster, Ultear gaped at him. Her shock made him uncomfortable.

            “Is this why the Queen lets you traipse around the seventh hill at your leisure and why you weren’t executed on sight for rolling in the royal hay with the Princess?” Erik asked.

            “It’s true,” Ultear whispered, still not taking her blade off Dimaria or her eyes off Jellal. “I tried to tell you last night. There’s been a lot of talk –”

            “What does this have to do with Erza?” Jellal demanded, cutting Ultear off. He could only handle so many trickling truths at once. Dimaria’s grin returned at the sound of his familiar use of Princess’s first name.

            “She overheard something she shouldn’t have while knocking around in The Troughs –”

            “What was the Princess doing knocking around in the Troughs?” Jellal knew he was making the interrogation more difficult but he _felt_ difficult.

            “Have you ever tried keeping her away from a thing she was absolutely determined to do?” Dimaria retorted.

            “Fair enough.”

            “She wouldn’t let it go and I decided I wasn’t too keen on completing my mission.” Dimaria went on lightly in an attempt at nonchalance. “We worked out a deal.”

            “There’s a price on Ultear’s head,” Erik said, finally pulling away from Dimaria. “You know anything about that?”

            Dimaria shook her head. “No, but I’m not surprised. They’re going to try to cut off every head and arm perceived as a threat.”

            Jellal shoved Ultear away from Dimaria and glared at Erik until he dissolved his cloud of poison.

            “Tell me where the Princess is.”

            “I don’t know.”

            Ultear scowled and opened her mouth but Jellal went on quickly. “You said you were here to help.”

            “I can tell you where she’s _supposed_ to be.” Dimaria smoothed her cloak and hair. “You should know, though, this isn’t about the Princess. Orga isn’t the one in charge of the guild anymore.” She shook her head. “I don’t know everything. I’m worried about the Princess and I’m worried about Chelia. She’s just a kid.”

            Jellal sighed. Too many moving pieces were churning away and he couldn’t even see them all. How could he aim for the root when he didn’t even know where it was? He needed to _think._ He needed _time._

            “Jellal,” Ultear said from closer than he expected. “Talk to us.”

            Jellal opened his mouth but a loud boom shook the building. Beams of rotting, half-burned wood creaked and moaned. Erik stormed to the window and peered outside.

            “Something just went off mid-hill.” He turned back to them over his shoulder and looked directly at Ultear. Her eyes slid shut and her knife disappeared back into her cloak. “Are we gonna make an assumption or…”

            Ultear spun on her heel and headed back toward the stairs. Meredy glanced at Jellal and then at Dimaria before taking off after her. Erik’s jaw clenched.

            “Goddamn it,” he swore. Dimaria withstood his glare but worried her bottom lip.

            “Come on.” Jellal closed his hand around Dimaria’s bicep and jerked her hood back up and over her head. She didn’t fight him on their way down the stairs and out of the building. Erik brought up the rear and Jellal could feel his paranoid eyes scanning all the way up the hill and the surrounding streets. Ultear wasn’t anywhere to be seen but he already knew where she’d gone.

            The defunct guildhall was a carcass. Even more so than the burned out pub they’d been in before. The stench of char that lightning leaves behind after striking a tree choked the air. Jellal didn’t need to be told Zancrow had been behind the blast.

            Meredy stood wringing her hands on the narrow sidewalk. Bits of wood and stone littered the street and onlookers were beginning to gather – civilians who might’ve had business on the hill. No assassin would ever be caught gaping at the aftermath of what was very obviously a hit. A shriek of frustration came from beyond the rubble.

            Ultear was _furious._

When she emerged from the wreckage she clutched a strip of glittering fabric that used to be a dress.

            “You should’ve slit my throat while I slept, Erik,” she complained. “At least then I wouldn’t have had to see all my fucking clothes in ruins.”

            “I’m sure you can afford new stuff,” a bored voice said from behind them.

            “Brandy!” Dimaria said with obvious surprise.

            “Did you think I wouldn’t track you down?” Lady Brandish drawled. She picked through the bits of building in the street and sighed deeply. “It’s always something with you.”

            “I didn’t do this,” Dimaria objected.

            “I never said you did,” Brandish said in a snappish tone. She fixed her eyes on Jellal. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going on under my own nose.”

            “Not here,” Erik grunted. “The law’ll be here soon. We need to get clear.”

            Ultear tossed aside the scrap of dress and glared at everyone but Meredy. “I’ve got another place. It’s safe.”

            Jellal bristled when Dimaria grinned wickedly at him for taking a firm grasp of her arm again. He hated her less now but she still grated his nerves. Her magical affinity still wasn’t clear to him but he suspected she could wink right out of his grip if she wanted to. A million questions waited on the tip of his tongue and he wondered how many of them he’d have the opportunity to ask.

            Ultear’s personal hideout was almost all the way down in The Troughs on the palace side of the hill. It was small and dank compared to her flat but Jellal guessed she probably had every shadow and corner stuffed to the brim with the secrets of her success – he also guessed that this _wasn’t_ her only hidden refuge.

            Jellal released Dimaria, who immediately put some space between herself and Brandish.

            “Alright,” Ultear said with the deadly calm he’d grown to expect from her. “Let’s get this sorted. Spill your story or I’ll spill your insides.”

            Dimaria’s eyes searched the room and she finally settled on Jellal. “The Princess was only ever bait.”

            “For what?” Jellal asked.

            “For _you_. You left the city and somebody wanted you back.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I should never have let the Princess sway me.”

            “Stop bloviating,” Ultear said, falling into one of the chairs. Meredy followed suit and perched on the arm of Ultear’s chair.

            “I heard you talking in the pub,” Dimaria said. “You said you’d heard rumors about the Prince. Well, the Princess heard them, too. She was… she was angry.”

            “I don’t imagine she was too pleased,” Jellal muttered.

            “Both her mother and her lover _lied_ to her. She was _livid_ and started talking about going to Stella herself.”

            “What did Her Majesty have to say about that? Stella has been in political turmoil for the last twenty years. I can’t envision a situation where she’d allow such a journey.”

            “She didn’t know. The Princess thought she was being discrete but it was really just me going behind her and sweeping things under the rug.”

            Jellal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Erza might be a force in a fight but she’s not exactly subtle.”

            “No,” Dimaria agreed. “She isn’t. I finally had to step in and connect her dots so she’d stop putting a target on her own back. I was ready to take Chelia and just disappear but everything started falling apart.” Dimaria completely deflated. “She lost her temper on Zancrow that day by the holy fountains and forced my hand.”

            “Forced your hand?” Ultear asked disinterestedly. She pulled out one of her smaller daggers and returned to manicuring her cuticles the way she had been earlier that morning. It was a habit that both distracted herself and anyone she wanted to trick into complacency.

            “I _knew_ that little skirmish the two of you had was a farce.” Brandish adjusted her cloak irritably. “I really need a new line of work. This one’s going to give me wrinkles.”

            “Winkles will give you some much needed gravitas,” Ultear said from her chair, smirking at Brandish. _“I’d_ still fuck you.”

            “Can we stay on topic, please?” Jellal interjected.

            “Right,” Dimaria sighed. “The Princess and I agreed to have a public clash that would make it look like I’d had enough and delivered her to Orga early.”

            “Why did you need to make it look like you delivered her early?” Jellal asked, feeling like he might already know the answer.

            “Because,” Dimaria whispered. “Chelia went missing after the guild tried to break open the heavens. I was going to take her with me when I left town but there were complications.”

            “Complications in the form of Wendy the little sky dragon slayer?”

            “Yes,” Dimaria said, her eyes falling all the way to the floor. “I guess I didn’t think everything through, did I? Chelia would never have left without her. I never thought the Princess would lose her temper the way she did, either. I didn’t have time to make sure things went smooth.”

            “So where is the Princess now?” Jellal asked as patiently as he could manage.

            “I don’t know. She was on the fifth hill but she’s gone.” She raised her eyes up again and met Jellal’s gaze. “I really fucked it all up.”

            Jellal sighed and spun around to face a still-brooding Erik. He felt the weight of every eye in the room. All of the questions he’d wanted to throw at Dimaria seemed pointless now. This wasn’t just about a missing princess anymore. It was about a missing _prince._ Erza was missing because of _him._

            “Jellal,” Ultear prompted quietly. “We need to –”

            Jellal whirled back around to face Dimaria. “Where was she supposed to be on the fifth hill?”

            “The old Orihime shrine.”

            Jellal thought he might vomit. His mother had always loved the Tanabata Festival. Every city in Stella would drape itself in colorful streamers and twinkling lights. Up on the plateaus the stars had been exceptionally beautiful and the royal city of Altair stood higher than the rest. If he closed his eyes he could almost _feel_ the stars pressing warmly against his face, and _hear_ the voice of his mother whispering the tale of Orihime and her beloved Hikoboshi, the boy star.

            It was _impossible!_ He’d _watched_ both his parents bleed to death in their bed. He’d been snatched from beside their bodies and taken directly to Crocus by Cassia. Orga had made the whole thing _personal_ right down to the Orihime shrine and stashing Erza on the most religious hill in the city. But what was the _connection?_ Why was Orga dabbling in Stella politics?

            “Jellal,” Ultear said again, more firmly. All his thoughts jumbled together before he could make sense of anything.

            “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ll go to the shrine.” Ultear stood and began to adjust all her knives. “No, _I_ will go.”

            She looked up at him, her expression a mix of confusion and rage. “Alone? You absolutely _cannot –”_

            “I’m going alone.”

            “Jellal,” she began with a look he knew well. _This_ look meant he was able to get an earful. “This isn’t the same now. I can’t let you go ducking off through the city. It’s not just about the Princess.”

            “You don’t think I know that?” he bit out.

            “No, I really don’t think you do.” Her tone was appalled and the tension in the room made it hard to breathe. “When the Queen sent us up your mountain to drag you back, it was clear that we were to make sure you arrived _alive_ by any means necessary.”

            “Ultear –”

            “She’s gone _eons_ out of her way to protect your stupid life!” Ultear shouted. “She plucked you out of the gutter, commissioned those runes on your face, and has kept you safe and sound for a long damn time. I will _not_ sit around while you go off on some bullshit, half cocked, moronic quest to sacrifice yourself for the Princess!” She huffed and went on before he could get a word in edgewise. “I can’t even _believe –”_

            “Alright,” Jellal finally cut in. “I get it.”

            _“Good,”_ Ultear said with no small degree of annoyance. “I’m not about to lose my entire reputation because of an impulsive prince chasing after an equally impulsive princess.”

            “If we’re going to go, let’s go.” Jellal turned to Erik. “Keep an eye on Meredy.”

            “What about them?” he asked nodding at the Ladies Brandish and Dimaria.

            “There’s no way I’m missing out on this drama. It’s the most exciting thing to happen in ages,” Brandish said, falling into a chair. “Plus, I’m not leaving Dimaria alone again.”

            Dimaria had nothing to say and continued to sulk against the wall. Ultear brought her cloak around her shoulders and grinned at Jellal.

            “I’m awaiting orders, Your Highness,” she said, her voice dripping with smarm.

            Jellal made a disgusted sound and turned to pull the door open and step back out into the street.


	9. Chapter 9

_“No confidence?” she spat the words out as if they were poison. “But this has nothing to do with my duties!”_

_“It has everything to do with it, love,” the Queen said softly. She only ever took such a tone with her daughter. Jellal couldn’t help the squeeze in his chest. Jealousy was always a thing he’d tried to avoid. “If people think you’re careless with your heart, they assume you’ll be careless with their lives.”_

_Jellal swallowed his words but he couldn’t stop the sigh from clawing its way free._

_“And what do you have to say about this?” The Princess turned to him with an expression that might’ve ended his life on the spot – if such a thing were possible._

_Jellal glanced at the Queen whose face was carefully blank. He didn’t need her to speak; he understood her position was dangerous. She would never betray his confidence, even in the presence of her very angry daughter. Such a breach would create an even bigger upset than rumors of a madcap princess who shared her bed with a known assassin._

_“I think…” He picked at the silver edges of his cloak. Not too long ago, perhaps even earlier that day, he’d been proud of it. The deep blue fabric lined with silver piping meant a job well done. Now it represented the canyon between Erza and himself. “I think Her Majesty is right. It matters.”_

_“Jellal!” the Princess gasped. “You can’t be serious! I can be queen and something else!” Her eyes flit quickly between her mother and Jellal in desperation. Nothing in recent history had hurt him more than this. “I don’t need to marry! I can… I can do my job alone just like you!”_

_“Erza –” the Queen began even softer. Jellal braced himself. She’d only ever expressed concern and mild disapproval when it came to his affair with her daughter. Perhaps in her most private moments she’d hoped it would spurn something more – something bigger. Something revolutionary. However, despite being a sovereign ruler, she was still a servant of her people. The stability of Fiore depended greatly on faith in the monarchy. “We exist on a very fine edge. Peace comes with a steep price. If the people decide we are no longer necessary, there will be revolt.” The Queen’s eyes landed on Jellal briefly. He understood her meaning in the very marrow of his bones. “We aren’t simply royals on a hill. We serve the people because they allow us to do it. Your openly impetuous behavior was one thing when you were thirteen, even seventeen. You’re twenty now.”_

_“So what?” the Princess sobbed._

_“Revolt means blood in the streets, Erza,” Jellal said. From his position beside the window he could see every tier of the seventh hill all the way down to the brass colored domes of the government houses on the sixth hill. “I can’t live with myself knowing I contributed to that. My place has never been up here with you. It’s not where I belong.”_

_Her expression remained neutral but Jellal could feel the Queen’s glare. When he met her eyes he pled silently,_ Let me go. Please, just let me go. I can’t do this.

_“You can’t marry an assassin, Erza,” the Queen finally said. “These are the sacrifices we make.”_

_“What if I don’t want to make that sacrifice,” the Princess whispered, looking directly at Jellal. “What if I want to be with you instead?”_

_“You can’t,” he said with finality. “I’m leaving.”_

_Even the Queen’s stoic countenance cracked in surprise._

_“Don’t you dare, Jellal!” Her fingers curled into angry fists. “You can’t take this choice away from me!”_

_“I’m not without my own choice here, Princess. This concerns me, too.”_

_“The price of my station is too high,” she declared indignantly._

_“I will pay for both of us,” Jellal choked out. “You don’t have to cut me off, Your Highness. I’ll do that work.”_

_“Where will you go?” the Queen asked in a quiet tone but Jellal had dealt with her long enough to recognize the demand beneath the smooth surface._

_“Perhaps I’ll take the holy vows and become a priest,” he said with the grin that always drew a smirk from the Queen. On this day she only pursed her lips._

_“If that’s what you wish. I won’t stop you.”_

_“Mother!” Erza objected. “Jellal, please!”_

_Jellal bowed deeply for the Queen and only turned slightly toward the Princess. He couldn’t stand to see her beg._

_“It has been my pleasure to serve the crown in all capacities.” Jellal spun on his heel and fled the room._

_He left the palace behind and made only one stop on his way out of the royal city. The cloak that had grown to mean so much to him, he left in a pile of cast offs intended for the destitute outside a temple at the very foot of the fifth hill._

* * *

 

            The Orihime shrine was older than the city and had fallen into disrepair. It sat not quite at the bottom of the hill but below the middle. Trees and other shrubbery kept it mostly out of eyesight. The fifth hill had more gardens than the seventh, and many of those were exclusively for prayer or meditation. A torii gate stood at the mouth of the path that led to the shrine. The red paint was faded and peeling. Jellal’s fingers brushed over the splintered wood and he almost wished it would pierce his skin so he could delay wandering into the shrine.

            “This place is too quiet,” Ultear mused. “What if no one’s here?”

            “Someone is here,” Jellal murmured. “Dimaria said Erza was bait. Orga would’ve left breadcrumbs.”

            “Weren’t you listening at all?” she asked irritably. “Orga isn’t in charge of the God Slayers anymore. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

            Jellal crouched just beyond the gate and ran his fingers over the wild tufts of grass poking between the last remnants of gravel. “Yeah, I was listening.”

            Ultear sighed. “What do you make of all this? Why is someone after you? Stella might be a governmental mess but it’s not like you pose any kind of threat. The closest you’ve ever come to going back was moping on a mountain for seven years.”

            “I wasn’t moping.”

            “You _were._ Anyway, let’s just think about this for a moment. Who wants you brought to heel and why?”

            Jellal’s thoughts were a tangle. He’d always assumed the entirety of his family dead. Not once in the last twenty years had he thought otherwise. He didn’t follow the news of goings on in Stella but he knew the monarchy was in shambles. Every branch of his family had been razed down to the level of baron. There hadn’t been anyone with any degree of competency left to step into his father’s shoes as king. Since then the remaining senate and ministries had struggled to form a working government. Even two decades later the country hadn’t recovered from the seemingly senseless purge of royal blood.

            Of course, his memories were that of a seven year old. He hadn’t been old enough to truly understand the complexities of politics. There weren’t sensational stories surrounding his disappearance, though – not anymore. Jellal had been operating under the notion that if he was known to be _missing_ and not _dead,_ whoever ordered the purge would’ve come after him. Now? Nothing made sense.

            He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have a clue. I never bothered to dig too deep into how I wound up here.”

            “I don’t suppose it matters. Whoever is behind all this has a twenty year head start anyway.”

            Jellal stood and gazed up at the sky. Through the trees he could see the sun inching just past mid-day. He’d have liked very much to have darkness on his side but the momentum of the day needed to be harnessed.

            “Come on,” he said under his breath. “Let’s see what we can see. We’ll stay together for now.”

            Ultear followed him up the overgrown path toward the shrine. Once the broken roof came into view, Jellal veered off the path and carefully moved through the grass. From the outside the shrine looked utterly abandoned but Ultear had an excellent eye for details. She brushed his arm and pointed toward a section of grass near the east wall of the shrine. This particular patch of grass stood out because it had very clearly been cut away to reveal an excavation tunnel that burrowed beneath the shrine. Black clove cigarette butts collected in a small pile near the hole and Ultear sneered in disgust.

            Jellal glanced at her once before crouching down and scowling into the tunnel.

            “I hate nature related activities,” Ultear muttered. “It’s always so dirty.”

            “Says the woman who enjoys her murder work.”

            “Pardon me?” she snapped. “My profession as an _assassin_ isn’t filthy. The only time I am ever exposed to this kind of mess is when I tag along with _you.”_

            “Nothing’s forcing you to stay.”

            “Nothing except my pesky code of honor and self respect.”

            Jellal snorted and accepted the situation. “It doesn’t look like this can be avoided. Come along or skulk back home.”

            The hole was wide enough that both he and Ultear could’ve hopped into it side by side. Jellal’s boots hit the bottom and a puddle of something sloshed. Ultear landed gracefully beside him and the sound she made was something quite beyond aggravation. Even in the low light he could see her glare.

            Beyond the damp soil, there was a well-used tunnel that looked to have been blasted into from the excavation hole. Lacrima lanterns were mounted into the wall and reminded him very much of the twisting bowls of Fairy Tail. Jellal touched the broken concrete wall and peered into the tunnel. It stretched endlessly in both directions.

            “Looks like this hole is a forced entry point.”

            “I don’t like thinking about what’s beneath the surface of this city,” Ultear whispered.

            “I thought you enjoyed intrigue,” Jellal said stepping through the pile of concrete rubble and into the tunnel.

            “I enjoy it when I’ve got a knife pointed at its soft belly.” She sighed and examined both ends of the tunnel. “Which way, Your Highness?”

            Jellal let the title roll off his back. She was only poking at him because she didn’t like being trapped underground – and she was still seething over the loss of all her pretty things.

            “The temple faces the river so if we go left, we’ll curve around the hill. Right will just lead us back down to The Troughs and eventually the canals.”

            “You think they’d take the Princess further in or out?”

            “In,” he said firmly. “If she’s truly just bait, they have no reason to try and remove her from the city.” Jellal turned to head left but Ultear’s hand shot out and grabbed the edge of his cloak.

            “I think we should go right.”

            “Why?”

            “Think about it. If the Princess is bait, they don’t have a reason to remove _her_ but they’ll certainly not want to be trapped inside a hill covered in shrines and temples. They’ll want to either assassinate you or nab you. Either way, they need a quick exit. They obviously know you have a connection to the Queen and report back to her.”

            Jellal hated questioning his instincts. He hated the abstract. But he hated the idea of separating from Ultear even more.

            “Alright. We’ll follow south and backtrack when we reach The Troughs.”

            Their boots echoed softly on the packed dirt ground for what felt like an eternity. The tunnel twisted and turned them around so many times, Jellal thought they’d gotten lost. But _how?_ The tunnel was one long stretch of concrete and dirt with no offshoots and no doors. When the sound of running water could be heard, Jellal grabbed Ultear’s wrist.

            “You said we’d hit The Troughs,” she whispered. “Why do we hear the river?”

            “Haven’t you noticed that we’ve doubled back?”

            “Impossible. You’re just feeling claustrophobic.”

            “I don’t think so.” Jellal’s curiosity surged and he marched forward with Ultear trailing behind.

            The tunnel ended abruptly with a sharp drop off above what looked to be one of the city’s many canals. An iron grate hung down over the opening halfway. Across the canal the tunnel continued but there wasn’t even a footbridge to assist them.

            Jellal groaned frustratedly and approached the grate.

            “What now?” Ultear asked, scuffing the soles of her boots in the loose dirt near the tunnel wall. “Should we turn around and interrogate Dimaria some more? She obviously lied.”

            “I don’t know,” Jellal said, grasping the iron bars and leaning against the grate. “I don’t think she lied.” On impulse he ducked under the grate and peered over the edge.

            When his body was shoved backward, his head cracked against the grate. His knees gave out and his eyes rolled upward to try and make sense of what had just happened. Ultear’s shouts echoed in the tunnel and he felt her grasping at his cloak from between the bars.

            A blur of scarlet swam before him and a familiar pair of honey brown eyes became all he could see.


	10. Chapter 10

            Jellal’s head _throbbed._ He flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes inside his boots before focusing on the sounds bouncing in and out of his ears. The canal still rushed loudly and echoed off every available surface. When he opened his eyes it took him a moment to focus on the iron grate and the trail of dirt leading to his feet. He’d apparently been dragged back to the safe side of the grate after… after _what?_

            Voices mingled to his left and Jellal turned his head toward them but the back of his head still ached. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut again. The voices were arguing. Jellal pried his eyes open and the two figures slowly came into focus - one a deep midnight and the other a shocking red.

            “I thought you were with the God Slayers,” the red one said. “I’d been hiding for a an hour or so when I heard voices.”

            “We heard you’d been moved,” the other one stated quietly.

            “They’ve moved me every day since the new guild master – or whatever he is – interrogated Chelia.”

            “Where is Chelia now?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “How did you escape?”

            “Pure luck. I –”

            Jellal groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. His vision swam and he wondered if his skull would _ever_ stop pounding.

            “Good morning, sunshine,” an irritatingly familiar voice said. Jellal blinked. _Ultear._ Right. Of course.

            “Jellal?” another voice whispered. This one was closer. Her scarlet hair was dirty but it was still the _best_ thing he’d ever seen. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were one of the God Slayers.”

            “I’m not,” he croaked. She scowled worriedly.

            “Are you okay? I think you hit that grate pretty hard.”

            “Yeah.” Jellal sucked in shallow breaths. “I’m okay.”

            “Good,” the Princess said. She moved quicker than his fuzzy head could process. Her closed fist came into contact with his chest just below his shoulder. It _hurt._ “You _ass!”_ she shouted at a low volume. “You _lying_ sack of –”

            “Is this a lover’s quarrel?” Ultear cut in. “Do you need a moment alone?”

            “Yes,” Jellal breathed as best he could.

            _“No,”_ the Princess snapped. She suddenly stood and rearranged her hair. He knew her well enough to recognize a frustrated tic when he saw one. There would be no point in trying to explain himself to Erza now. Not only was she angry with him – and rightly so – but also they were _still_ in a tunnel beneath a shine occupied by a renegade guild with an unknown leader.

            “Right, then,” Ultear said briskly. “We really should get moving. We can’t sit here with our backs against a canal. They’ll be looking for you, Your Highness.”

            “Which _Your Highness_ do you mean?” the Princess asked snidely, shooting him a painful glare.

            “As much fun as watching you poke at Jellal truly is, we need to make a choice.”

            Jellal used the concrete wall to steady himself as he stood. “We can’t leave Chelia.”

            “I agree,” Erza said with a resigned sigh. “I couldn’t look myself in the mirror knowing I left a little girl with… that man.”

            “Erza,” Jellal said, relieved to finally be upright – even if the position did come with a touch of nauseating vertigo. “Tell me about this new guild master. Who is he? What did he look like?”

            The Princess fidgeted with her clothes. “I don’t know his name. He… he had wild hair and marks on his face.”

            “Marks?” Jellal would’ve clenched his jaw if he weren’t trying not to aggravate the pain in his skull. “What kind of marks?”

            “They were almost iridescent,” she whispered. Jellal didn’t care for her terrified expression. “His hair was wild. There was something off about him.” Erza frowned and planted her hands on her hips. “He was, I don’t know, pulsing? He seemed to feed off everyone in the room but me.”

            “Did he know you’re a mage?” Jellal asked.

            “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t ask, anyway.” The princess’s face lost all irritation and hardness. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jellal?” she nearly whispered. “You could’ve told me who you were. I would never have betrayed you. Why could you tell my mother and not _me?”_

            Jellal couldn’t stand the broken, pleading emotions written all over her face. They cut him deeper than anything else ever had. He opened his mouth to reply but the tunnel was suddenly filled with a heavy, rushing wind. All the loose dirt on the ground swirled in the air and only Ultear didn’t hide her face. Ever ready, she glared into the tunnel behind them.

            “He didn’t tell you,” a voice boomed. “Because he is the same frightened brat he was twenty years ago.”

            Jellal’s skin crawled. The wind cut off just as suddenly as it picked up and all the dust in the air settled.

            “Hello, nephew mine,” the man Erza had described as wild, said. “I would say it is good to see you but I’d be making a liar out of myself.”

            _“You,”_ Jellal said in not much more than a whisper. “I _know_ you.” He blinked rapidly in frustration. Realization dawned on him and Jellal became _angry._ “You were the one who killed Cassia. I _saw_ you.”

            “It’s true I killed the whore. Such a pity, too, she was lovely to look at.” The man grinned and the marks on his face and arms glowed. “She always was my favorite. Imagine my heart breaking right in two when I learned of her betrayal.”

            Jellal felt like the wheels in his head were spinning much too slow. “Why do you call me nephew?”

            “Do you not recognize me?” He laughed in a low, dangerous tone. “I suppose it has been a while and I’ve made some changes. Improvements, really.”

            Jellal’s eyebrows drew together. _Surely not!_ This man didn’t look a thing like his father’s brother! He was too big. Too cold, and too harsh. His eyes, though, they were the same charcoal grey as his father’s had been.

            “Acnologia?” Jellal thought the name didn’t quite fit in his mouth like it did when he was a child. “What happened to you? How did you _survive?”_ Even as he posed the question, Jellal knew the answer. Acnologia had survived because he’d been the one to order the killing.

            “My brother was a reed of a man. He bent to the whims of the people.” Acnologia grinned and stepped forward. He was followed close behind by Zancrow, Orga, and two others who held a girl Jellal guessed to be Chelia, between them. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Erza’s hands balled into fists and Jellal reached over to touch the crook of her elbow with his fingertips. The last thing he wanted was her drawing a sword and ending the day with a dangerously enclosed battle they couldn’t win.

            “My father was a good king,” Jellal countered slowly. His eyes flit to Chelia’s wrists. Her captors held a pair of magic suppressing cuffs closed. The cuffs weren’t clasped on their own which meant they thought her easily subdued and manipulated.

            Acnologia’s laugh drowned out even the canal behind them. “He was _weak._ The throne should’ve been left to _me_ but alas. Lines of succession are tricksy things.”

            “You murdered your own blood!”

            “We all have choices to make, nephew mine. You have made your own choices, as well.” Acnologia’s gaze fell on Erza. “She is a lovely specimen, even if she isn’t my type.”

            “You –” Jellal’s finger’s squeezed around Erza’s arm in warning. She bit back her words.

            “Why didn’t you finish me off when you murdered Cassia? It would’ve been easy. I _saw_ you.”

            “You were not finished yet.” Acnologia shrugged. “I have learned much over the years. It would’ve been such a waste to end a life so young.” He gestured back to Chelia. “You are not gifted with divine magic such as this one. I could consume her magic force today and it would be just as sweet as when she turns twenty. I had to wait for you to… flower.”

            “I don’t understand.” Jellal knew he shouldn’t be taking Acnologia’s bait. He should be focusing on freeing Chelia and escaping the tunnel without burying them all in rubble.

            “I _absorb,_ Jellal. I _eat_ magic. I offered my services to my dear brother, the king, and he turned me away. Brutish, yes? Such a cruel man to his own family. Stella could’ve taken the entire continent of Ishgar if he’d only listened. We could’ve been so much more than what the stars granted us.” Acnologia sighed and feigned regret. “I had to take action. Orga, was more than agreeable. He only asked for one favor in return. When I rule this land the God Slayers will keep my subjects in order.”

            “This land?” Erza breathed. “Your subjects?” Jellal could feel her panic as the puzzle pieces slid into place.

            “No one will be spared my rule,” Acnologia said, his face splitting into horrible grin. “I’ve been feeding off my little guild’s magic for years. When I give the signal, the sky will fall.”

            “You can’t… do that,” the Princess said slowly.

            “I think you will find, Your Highness, that I can do whatever I want.” He stepped forward and passed by Ultear. “I look forward to what your mother gives up in her last breaths. I’ve heard she is quite the powerful sorceress.”

            Erza’s rage was palpable and Jellal’s fingers dug into her arm harshly.

            “You aren’t going to have that chance,” Jellal said with a clenched jaw. “I won’t allow it.”

            “You think you have that power, nephew mine?” Acnologia moved directly in front of Jellal. “Do you think you have the power to squash me? You can certainly try. It doesn’t matter the state you are in when I consume you, Jellal, just so long as I do.”

            Jellal could smell the opium and cloves on his uncle’s cloak. The scent took him back to a stretch of wet brick and blood that appeared almost black in the moonlight. He remembered Cassia’s cold fingers and pale lips. His mind took him even further back to a pair of vibrant green eyes that looked so much like his own. Jellal felt the magic gathering in his palms, his knees, and the tips of his fingers. He felt Abyss Break collecting deep inside his body. Years of pent up rage bubbled over and scalded the skin of his neck.

            He stopped caring about the God Slayers and the Queen. He didn’t care about Ultear or Chelia or even Erza. Every cell in his body wanted nothing more than to bring the tunnel down around them and crush everyone into a bloody pulp of flesh and bone.

            A flash of light blinded him and Jellal felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The roar in the tunnel died then nearly deafened him before another flash of light filled the empty space and silenced everything once more.

            When the light faded, Acnologia’s grin was still in place. Erza’s arms were raised defensively but her body looked as if it had been frozen mid-requip. Her clothes were half transparent and her fingers were bent just so as if they were about to close around the hilt of something sharp and dangerous. Jellal peeked around Acnologia’s shoulder and saw Chelia twisted at an angle that made it look like she’d been about to pull away from the men holding her.

            “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Ultear said from her place against the tunnel wall beside him. Jellal startled. His eyes searched the tunnel and found a more solid version of her still standing just off to the side.

            “What… what did you do?” he stammered. Ultear’s smile was softer than he’d ever seen it.

            “I’ve been busy while you were away. I learned some new things.”

            “Ultear –”

            “We don’t have time to reminisce. I need you to make a choice, Jellal.”

            “What choice? What is happening right now? Did you… _freeze_ time?”

            Ultear laughed but the sadness was still plain on her face. “In a way, yes. But not exactly. You and I are in a timeless pocket. It’s… complicated.”

            “I can tell.” Jellal eyed her carefully and felt something that couldn’t be identified as anything other than _fondness_ for his oldest friend.

            “We need to move quickly.” Ultear reached up, seemingly without effort, to brush a fleck of what looked like dust from her shoulder. “I’ve done my part but you still have to choose.”

            “Your part?” Jellal still struggled to keep up with her words. “What choice are you talking about?”

            “Chelia and I can get us out of this tunnel. I can create an opening to whatever is directly above this space, and she can lift us out. But we still need you to win the day.”

            “Chelia is –”

            Ultear’s smile sharpened into one he was more familiar with. “Look again.”

            Jellal watched another flake of dust, this time from her forehead, float away before turning back to where Chelia was frozen with her captors. He blinked and then he saw it.

            “The cuffs!”

            “I’ve desiccated them. When time resumes, she will break free and create a wind cyclone that will bring us out of this tunnel. I’ve already pin pointed the best place to destroy the rock and dirt around us.”

            “But… _how?”_

            “Did you not feel both folds in time?”

            Jellal remembered the first flash of lights and the noise that followed. “That was you freeing Chelia?”

            “Yes.”

            “Ultear,” he began as another flake of something fell from her shoulder. “Why are you crumbling?”

            “Because my magic power is waning. This is why I need you to make a choice before I am no longer able to create an exit hole.”

            “Tell me,” Jellal demanded. “What ever it is, I’ll do it.”

            “You say that because you don’t know what’s at stake.” Her face softened again and Jellal realized a soft Ultear terrified him.

            “What is it?” he whispered.

            “You,” she stated, leaning heavier against the wall. “Your magic. In order to overpower Acnologia and his God Slayers, you need to harness every magical particulate in your body as it is now, and all it will ever have.”

            “How do I do that?”

            “I can release it for you, Jellal, but that’s not the question you should be asking.” A very clear crack began to snake its way down her face. Inside was nothing but blackness.

            “Ultear, _please,_ tell me. I can’t stand to watch you crumble away.”

            “Once I release your Third Origin, there is no way for me to recover the particulates.” She watched him closely and Jellal finally began to feel the weight of her words. “Your magic will be gone and I don’t think it can ever be recovered.”

            “Do it,” he said without hesitation. “I can blow them back and assist Chelia and –”

            Ultear’s smile broke his heart. “You still don’t understand, Your Highness.”

            “Please don’t call me that,” he begged in a whisper.

            “You get one shot. One spell. That’s it.”

            “Only one?”

            “Yes.” Ultear’s skin was nearly in shards of crumbling dust.

            “I can do it.” Jellal faltered. “But… there might not be anything left of the fifth hill once it’s done.”

            “I think the Queen will forgive a crater for the sake of the continent kept from the hands of a madman.” Ultear’s smile fell away.

            “I’m ready.”

            As soon as the words fell from his lips, Jellal felt as if he folded in on himself. Acnologia’s teeth that were too bright to be anything other than cosmetic magic were once again directly in front of him. In an instant Jellal felt his body fill with an _immense_ amount of magic. He remembered leaning over Cassia’s body and the feeling of raw magic bleeding right from the tips of his fingers in grief. This time, he felt pulled apart at the seams.

            He didn’t wait for Chelia or Ultear. He didn’t stop Erza from plucking her deadly blades from her own pocket universe. Jellal did nothing but close his eyes and whisper in a voice much like the one he’d taken with the Queen the very first time he’d been brought before her.

            _“Altaris,”_ he whispered. For his mother.


	11. Chapter 11

_Jellal laughed for such a long time that Erza glared at him. Though she was dressed primly and had not a single hair out of place, nothing looked right._

_“Where in all of Earthland did you learn how to curtsy like_ that? _” Jellal teased through his peals of laughter. The princess huffed indignantly._

_“Who are you to criticize my curtsies? You’re a_ boy _and an_ assassin! _What do you know of royal etiquette?”_

_“I know enough to say that curtsy is sloppy and every lady at court will laugh at you from behind her fan.”_

_“Fine,” she snapped frostily. “I suppose I’ll allow you to meddle. Show me a proper curtsy.”_

_“No.” Jellal stood from the whitewashed garden bench where he’d been watching her struggle with great amusement. “I have apprentice duties today.”_

_“Please?” Erza blurted desperately. “It’s my debut and if I embarrass mother I know I’ll die on the spot.”_

_He circled her with a critical expression and tapped a finger on his chin. She visibly bristled but said nothing._

_“A curtsy is like a bow. It should be low and graceful. A show of deference. As Her Highness the Royal Princess of Fiore, you curtsy to no one but your mother.” Jellal stood directly in front of her and very much enjoyed the way she ate up his words. “The only time you curtsy for someone else is when dancing. Then it’s more chorographical than a show of respect for someone above you.”_

_“I’m not very good at dancing,” she murmured, glancing down at the grass. “I hate all of this.”_

_“You’ll get it,” Jellal said confidently. “We’ll go through it step by step. Show me the curtsy again.”_

_Erza nodded and fixed her gaze on his shoulder. Her right foot moved awkwardly behind her left and Jellal cringed. “Is it wrong already?” she wailed forlornly._

_“No, no!” Jellal sighed. “Okay, yes, but we’ll fix it.” He crouched at her feet and tapped her left heel. “You have to start with a balanced stance. You can’t just clomp across the room and pop a curtsy without knowing what you’re doing. Your right foot should glide behind your left. It should be fluid not choppy. Try it again.”_

_Erza needed five more tries before she could move her foot without wobbling._

_“Now you just need to dip down and bow your head. It should be quick but graceful.”_

_“Right,” Erza whispered. A strand of her hair fell from the twist on the back of her head and without thinking, Jellal reached over to tuck it back into the fold._

_She clutched at his arm and struggled with the dip. Her frustration ate at him and he felt bad for teasing her before._

_“Do you have your shoes yet?”_

_“No. They’re being brought up tomorrow.” Erza leaned against him and sighed. “Maybe I should take the coward’s way out and ask for an escort. If I trip or fall –”_

_“You won’t do any of that, Erza,” he said quietly. “You’ll get this down and excel at it the way you do everything else.”_

_“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”_

_Jellal stepped in front of her and grasped both her arms. “You are. You’re the Princess and your mother’s daughter. You can do a curtsy. Remember when you used to swing wildly at the trees with your swords and spin around in a circle before falling? When’s the last time you did that?”_

_“It’s been a while,” she said with a dim smile._

_“It’s been_ years. _You practiced every day until you got it right. This is the same. Work on it barefoot until your shoes are delivered and then do it over and over again in your room. Do it on the tiles and on the carpets.” Her smile had grown into something he loved. “I believe in you.”_

_“Thank you, Jellal. Where’d you learn all this stuff anyway?”_

_Jellal’s heart lurched painfully. “Just… around. I’m not really from here.”_

_“No?” Her eyebrows flew up. “You mean this city or…”_

_“Fiore. I came from Stella when I was very young and I spent a lot of time at court there. I guess some of it stuck with me.”_

_“At court?” She pursed her lips. “I heard about what happened there. I’m sorry to have brought up anything painful.”_

_“It’s fine. I was very young and don’t remember much.” The lie was bitter on his tongue. “I’m happy to help.”_

_“I’m grateful. I’ll get it right and make you proud.”_

_“Erza,” he whispered, losing himself in the stray wisp of scarlet that brushed her cheek again. “You don’t need to execute a perfect curtsy to earn my pride.”_

_“I want to have real skills,” she said just as softly. “I want to be your equal. I don’t like being the princess on the hill you’d be embarrassed to have at your side down in the city.”_

_“You think I’d be embarrassed to have you at my side?”_

_“Well, yes. I don’t know very many things and you know_ everything _and sometimes I wonder if I’m just a useless royal.”_

_“Erza, you aren’t any of that. You and your mother are the scions of this country. Everybody looks up to you for guidance and rule. Your mother brought a new era of peace and you represent the bright horizon. How can you call yourself useless?”_

_“Sometimes I resent my station,” she whispered. “Is that awful? I think about running away.”_

_“Where would you go?”_

_“Wherever you are.” The princess flushed but didn’t drop her eyes from his. “Is that so bad?”_

_“For me personally?” he asked with a smile he knew was outrageously sappy. “No.”_

_“But for the country?”_

_“Not even that. You’re sixteen and I think you have an itch you want to scratch. Be patient, Erza. You’ll find your own groove. It doesn’t have to be the same as your mother’s.”_

_“I want to be a good queen but I also want to be me.”_

_“You’ll figure it out.”_

_“Will you be here while I do that?”_

_Jellal’s expression melted into something softer. Something he didn’t often allow himself to ponder for an entire host of reasons. He touched the loose strand of hair, the one that defied the others who’d gone gracefully into the twist, and sighed._

_“I’ll be here until I can’t anymore. How’s that?”_

_“When I’m Queen I can make sure there’s no reason you have to leave.”_

_Jellal said nothing. His head knew she’d made an impossible promise but his heart wanted to believe her. She stood so close to him he could see every perfect imperfection of her face. An eyelash stuck to the apple of her cheek and Erza didn’t flinch when he pulled it away._

_“Make a wish,” he whispered. Erza closed her eyes and the tilt of her chin filled him with inescapable temptation._

_When he kissed her she bowed into him and closed her fingers around the fabric of his shirt – the one beneath his cloak. Erza returned his kiss and Jellal felt a different burn in his chest. Something that wasn’t lonely or sad. This was something new. Something bright. He pulled away from her and tucked the scarlet wisp behind her ear._

_“I have to go,” he breathed, already missing the press of her lips against his._

_“Apprentice duties?” she murmured._

_“Yes. I’ll come for you tomorrow.”_

_“I’ll practice all night.”_

_He absolutely could not stop himself from stealing one last kiss before dashing off over the garden wall. When he reached the base of the hill, Jellal felt a pair of eyes on him. The gaze of the Queen wasn’t one he could ever ignore. She emerged from the dahlia bushes with an expression he could not decipher._

_“You could’ve told her the truth,” she said softly, brushing her fingers over the blood red blooms. “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“Will you lie to her forever?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

* * *

 

            The weight of the hill threatened to crush them. Chelia didn’t spare her former guildmates a single backward glance. Through the whirling darkness of his magic and the light of the magic circle, she dashed toward them in a gust of wind and propelled them upwards through the desiccating hill. Once the spell left his fingers, Jellal felt like something had been ripped from him. Something he’d never noticed was even there, he’d now lost forever.

            Acnologia’s last expression was one of shock. For all his years of scheming, Ultear had proved far more clever and quick. His body blew backwards against his cohorts and once the hill began to collapse beneath them, Jellal stopped looking. Erza pressed against his chest as they huddled in the center of Chelia’s cyclone. Ultear leaned against Erza’s back but never lost focus. When the hill finally opened up and they burst from the wreckage, the evening sun nearly blinded everyone.

            The sound of the fifth hill collapsing filled every corner and alley in Crocus. Even the tips of the golden spires that topped the palace vibrated. Jellal wondered if his skull would ever stop ringing. The rubble wasn’t quite level with The Troughs but sank a few feet below. Crocus’s spiritual hub was now a dusty trench filled with rocks, dirt, and bits of shrines and temples poking out across it. If he were a better priest, he thought, he’d have been horrified. As it stood, though, he didn’t care.

            Ultear collapsed against Erza’s back and Jellal caught the edge of her cloak. Balancing on the heaps of broken things was difficult but Jellal managed to lift her body into his arms. Erza guided them out of the still settling mess and to a mound of grass that had been the center of a small courtyard only moments before. Voices rose to an inescapable din as the residents of the royal city milled around the enormous wound-like hole.

            Chelia hovered over Ultear, inspecting her body for injuries.

            “I don’t see anything too bad,” she said slowly. “I think you’re mostly suffering from magic depletion. You need rest.”

            “Thank you, Chelia,” Ultear said with a weak smile.

            “We’d have perished in that tunnel if not for you,” the Princess said, touching Chelia’s shoulder. The younger girl flushed and wrung her hands nervously.

            “It was my honor to serve, Your Highness.” Chelia glanced around and bit her lip. “Should I curtsy? Or bow? Or –”

            “Of course not,” the Princess assured her. “You bow to _no one._ ” Chelia’s face brightened and she threw her arms around Erza’s middle.

            “Thank you,” she whispered.

            “Chelia!” Dimaria’s voice rose above the din. Chelia smiled up at the Princess one last time before turning and dashing off to reunite with Dimaria. Jellal’s eyes caught on a familiar white cat with golden eyes perched on the roof of a vendor’s stall and suspected Wendy wouldn’t be too far behind.

            Jellal turned from Ultear and the Princess to survey what used to be the fifth hill. Not too far away he spotted a man sitting cross-legged on the edge of the crater. Silver half-moons hung from his ears and his dark skin glowed in the light of the sunset. He seemed to be in a deep state of thought.

            “Azuma,” Ultear said quietly from behind him. When he glanced back at her, she grinned tiredly. Jellal had never seen her so weakened. “He’ll make the hole pretty so the Queen doesn’t have to look at this blight.”

            “What of the people on the hill when it collapsed?” Jellal hadn’t taken the time to consider anyone on the hill when he’d been beneath it, bleeding magic.

            “Dimaria came through in a pinch,” she said, not elaborating further. Ultear closed her eyes and heaved a deep breath. “I’m tired. Time magic is exhausting.” She stretched out on her back, uncaring of the dust that coated the bench.

            Jellal nodded and frowned at the palms of his hands. He tried to find the place inside of him that had once commanded the stars but… couldn’t. All his life he’d been so close to them and now he felt nothing. The loss felt like the final blow separating him from his family. His magic had been the pride of both his mother and father. It had saved him from a life in The Troughs, always scrounging for food and work. What did he have left of himself that was worth anything at all?

            “I understand why you didn’t tell me,” the Princess said from beside him. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

            “Princess –”

            “Unless you want me to start addressing you by _your_ title, I’d like it very much if you’d stop addressing me by _mine_.” Erza’s frustration with him was plain but contained. She wanted things from him he wasn’t sure he could give – or even _should._

            Jellal deflated. The emptiness inside of him was like a gaping maw he thought he might fall into and never find his way out.

            “I’m sorry to have put you in danger,” he whispered.

            “Stop,” she ordered. “I don’t want your apologies, Jellal.”

            “They’re all I have left to give you. I lied to you, Erza. Simply being around you has put your life at risk. Even _caring_ for you –”

            _“Caring_ for me?” she repeated slowly in an offended tone.

            “I’ve been nothing but a lying coward. You’ve _always_ deserved better than anything I’ve had to give.” He tried to smile but knew it wasn’t a pretty thing. “I don’t regret my choice beneath the hill because you’re alive but I’m empty now.”

            “What are you _talking_ about?”

            “Your Highness,” Lady Brandish cut in. He hadn’t heard her approach but it didn’t matter. “I should escort you back to the palace. Your mother will want to verify your safety.”

            Jellal felt Erza’s eyes prodding at him but he couldn’t look away from the empty palms of his hands.

            “Of course,” she agreed dejectedly. He felt her absence acutely once she’d been led away.

            The royal city milled around him but Jellal couldn’t move. Meredy joined him to look after Ultear and Erik lurked in the shadows. When the sun started its descent, and the moon showed her face, sprouts of green began to peek from beneath the rubble. Long after the world went dark Azuma stayed beside the crater and brought life from the death beneath.


	12. Chapter 12

            Despite everything, Jellal still felt most at home on the second hill. By the time Ultear recovered her magic and returned to Crime Sorciere, Erik and Meredy had rooted out the traitors. Meredy had a shockingly ruthless underbelly Jellal hadn’t been aware of. She questioned the weak links personally and discovered Acnologia’s roots were buried deep. He’d had his eye on Jellal for a very long time. Once loyalties had been affirmed and the holes in the hull of the guild patched, the guild master – an elderly woman who boasted healing magic more powerful than anyone truly knew – demanded the presence of all four of them.

            “I’m tired,” she said without preamble. Her office was cluttered with spells and vials that could kill a man in one instant and bring him back in the next. Porlyusica had been at the helm of Crime Sorciere since before Jellal ever set foot in the royal city. She had no last name and no title. The lack of those things made her seem even more intimidating. “I’m leaving.”

            “The city?” Meredy asked.

            “No, child, this land. I wish to go home. It’s been long enough.” Jellal leaned against the back wall of her office, trying to blend in. Porlyusica glared at him anyway. “Don’t worry, _Your Highness_ , I won’t pester you with responsibilities,” she snapped at him. Jellal pulled the hood of his cloak down lower over his face in embarrassment. Her eyes stopped on Ultear. “You’ll do, I suppose.”

            “Me?”

            “Don’t make me foist this guild on the runaway dragon slayer,” Porlyusica groused. “So long as you don’t get carried away with your mind games, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

            “Thank you,” Ultear murmured. “I’ll do my best.”

            “I don’t care what you do. All I ask is that you wait until I’m outside before burning it all to the ground.” Porlyusica drew her own cloak around her shoulders – it was a hideous red thing adorned with what Jellal always thought looked like bits of bone. She’d never donned the blue and silver even once – and crossed the room to the door.

            “But what about all your stuff?” Meredy blurted.

            “I won’t need it where I’m going. Useless anyway. Be good, kids.” Despite her cantankerous last words, Jellal knew Porlyusica had a well guarded soft spot for lost creatures. When she left the guildhall behind, the four of them exchanged glances before Ultear grinned savagely and ran her fingers along the edge of Porlyusica’s desk. She circled it before falling into the throne-like chair and propping her feet up on the desk. Erik snorted.

            “Am I free to go or what?”

            “I suppose you’re dismissed,” Ultear said loftily. Erik stalked from the room, nodding only at Jellal before slamming the door behind him.

            “So what’s your first order of business as the new guild master?” Meredy asked. Ultear’s eyes stuck on Jellal.

            “Well, I’d ask Jellal if he’d like a new guild mark but I know he never burned off his old one.”

            “One of these days you’ll be wrong about something, Ultear,” he grumbled, heading for the door. “I hope I’m around to see it.”

            Jellal wandered the hallways of Crime Sorciere before settling for the roof. The afternoon was windy and still carried dust from the crater of green things that used to be the fifth hill. Azuma had done his job well. From the roof of the guild Jellal could see what looked very much like a sunken forest on the other side of the city. Half of his view was blocked by the ever-blooming seventh hill and Jellal felt a pang of sadness. Nothing had been resolved between the Princess and himself. In fact, he thought the whole incident had driven them further apart.

            With a sigh, Jellal stretched out across his back on the roof. The stones here were smooth with age and he couldn’t count the number of nights he’d spent gazing up at the stars and wishing for home. Logically, Jellal knew the stars weren’t visible during the day anyway but he still felt their absence. In the back of his mind he’d always hoped to find a permanent harbor. Now he was adrift once more.

            “Why so blue, Little Lost Prince?” The Queen’s voice startled him but he refused to react. She’d come to his turf this time. He’d let her do the floundering.

            “I’m surprised to see you so far away from your hill, Your Majesty.”

            “Are you truly? We have business to discuss.”

            “Conclude, you mean? I’ve fulfilled your request. The Princess is safe.” Jellal rolled his head to the side and saw not the queen but only her specter. He’d long ago decided not to be shocked by any new magical display. She was _renowned_ for her talent and that talent had played no small part in her role as queen.

            “Erza has been returned to me, yes, and for that I owe you a great many things.”

            Jellal returned his gaze to the sky. “You owe me nothing. Perhaps we’re even now. A life for a life.”

            “Is that all we have, Jellal? A business arrangement? Forgive me if I overstep and perhaps it’s my pride talking, but I do care about your wellbeing and am pleased to have seen you grow into a man.”

            “I don’t know what I am anymore, Your Majesty.”

            “Why?” Even though the Queen wasn’t truly present, he still felt her eyes.

            “Erza’s life came with a price.”

            “Life usually isn’t free.”

            “I traded one spell for our escape from the fifth hill.”

            “Third Origin is a tricky thing,” the Queen said with a sigh. “There is still much to learn about unlocking it. Ultear’s skill is noteworthy.” The Queen remained silent for a long moment. Jellal waited. She never wasted her words. “Is that what’s bothering you? The loss of your magic particulates?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why have you let your magic define you?”

            “Because my magic _is_ who I am. I come from a place where everything revolves around the heavens. People traveled from all over the world to stargaze from the plateaus. Part of my birthright was to command them. The people –”

            “Are still your people, Jellal,” she interrupted. “That hasn’t changed. Just because the monarchy has fallen doesn’t mean Stella is no longer your homeland.” She paused again and Jellal couldn’t quite catch his breath for the despair pressing on his chest. “What happened wasn’t your fault. Stella would welcome you home if you chose to return.”

            “What would I be returning to?”

            “That isn’t a thing I can possibly know. Your people are resilient. Yes, their monarchs were murdered in their beds but they’ve continued on. The country of Stella is a work in progress, Jellal, and will emerge victorious.”

            “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

            “None of us do, really. If I could heal this wound for you, I would.” The Queen’s voice was almost as soft as it had been that very first day she’d spoken to him. “I’ve grown to care for you and your wellbeing, Little Lost Prince. It pains me to see you struggle with your own worth. Do you truly not know the whole of it?”

            “The whole of what?” he whispered.

            “You are worth so much more than the magic in your body, Jellal. I have watched you grow into a person worth knowing – a man worth saving.” She laughed fondly. “And I don’t say that of many men. My daughter still pines for you. She has decided you are worth her love. Will you truly be so careless with your life?”

            “Erza deserves –”

            “To be with someone who values her,” the Queen finished for him. “Am I to believe you don’t love her in return? Answer me this, Jellal, would you have returned to Crocus for anything other than Erza’s life?”

            “To be fair, Your Majesty, you didn’t disclose any of that in your summons.”

            “No, but if the reason had been for anything else and I’d said so, you would not have come back. It was that unanswered question that drew you home.”

            _“Is_ this my home?” he whispered.

            “I believe it could be.” Jellal felt the Queen drifting away. When he tore his eyes away from the afternoon sky, the Queen’s specter had gone.

* * *

 

            Jellal had taken to rising with the sun on the roof of Crime Sorciere. He would only ever admit to the part of him that enjoyed the first rays of light, and not the frantic need to make sure Acnologia hadn’t somehow survived Altairis and clawed his way from the rubble.

            Ultear shamelessly enjoyed her new position as guild master. Crime Sorciere all but ran itself but she wasted no time in making it clear who was actually in charge.

            On the morning of his fourth sunrise, Ultear met him at the bottom of the narrow staircase that led to the roof.

            “You’re an idiot,” she said, picking at her nails with her dagger.

            “Thanks for the update,” Jellal muttered, not even trying to get past her. “Anything else, oh esteemed leader?”

            “You haven’t left the city but you haven’t been to the palace.”

            “Was there a question in there?”

            “No,” she said airily. “I’m just putting it out there that you’re running away from the Princess for no good reason.”

            “I have nothing to offer her now.”

            “My memory escapes me, Your Highness, were jumping at the chance to offer her things before you traded your magic for her life?”

            Jellal scowled and moved toward the door. Her dagger stuck in the wood of the doorframe and he froze. Ultear squeezed between him and the frame, and placed her hand on his chest. Her eyes screwed shut and he could feel her worming around inside of him. Ultear was a master of many types of magic – like himself, like the Queen – but he didn’t think she could accomplish what he knew she was attempting. Jellal closed his hand around her wrist.

            “Stop,” he whispered. “You can’t fix this.”

            “I’m sorry.” Ultear’s face betrayed her regret.

            “Don’t be. We’d be dead if not for you.”

            “I’m still sorry. Maybe if I –”

            “I’m alright, Ultear. This isn’t a thing you should feel guilt over.”

            “Please go to her, Jellal. I can’t stand the way you sulk.”

            He grinned. “I didn’t know you were such a soft hearted soul.”

            “Only for you, you ass.” She pushed him through the door and smoothed her clothes. “Stop being useless and lovesick. Go to the palace and try not to get gutted by Her Highness while begging for her forgiveness for being so incredibly obstinate.”

            “I’ll consider it.”

            Ultear waved him off and disappeared down the hallway. Jellal waited until sunset before leaving Crime Sorciere behind.

            Crocus never got the brunt of Fiore’s winters but for at least three months out of the year, snow dusted rooftops across the city. It had been years since Jellal had taken himself through the veins of the royal city on foot. In spite of recent happenings, The Troughs carried on as if it were any other day. Of course, in The Troughs, it _was_ any other day. He’d missed the bustle of life and business. There was no wondering in how he’d managed to blow through thirteen years without really noticing.

            It would’ve taken him days to circumnavigate the entire city of Crocus on foot so he cut his meandering short when the moon began its climb. The seventh hill loomed before him and he took each tier of gardens faster than he truly wanted to. She met him just past halfway.

            The princess waited for him in the corridor housing the empty maid’s quarters they’d spent many nights in before. Her scarlet hair hung freely about her shoulders and the sadness on her face bruised him.

            “I thought you’d never come,” she said quietly. “And at the same time, Jellal, I thought you’d come sooner.”

            “It has never been my intention to disappoint you, Erza.”

            “I think it’s safe to say your intentions have paved the road to hell itself.” Erza stepped toward him and took his hand in hers. She pulled him into the empty maid’s quarters and closed the door. Moonlight spilled into the room through the tall windows that lined the opposite wall. For the first time in seven years he truly looked at her and, though he knew it to be foolish, fell in love with her once again – both harder and softer than the first time. The words that pressed against his tongue were poison but he couldn’t hold them back.

            “I can’t stay, Erza. There are still things I have to do.”

            She gazed up at him with the only pair of eyes that had ever found their way into the center of his heart. “I know.”

            Erza’s kisses still tasted of peppermint and he appreciated the fact that this one thing hadn’t changed. Her hair was longer now and her body firmer. She touched him with a hungry confidence and he didn’t stop her from divesting him of his clothing.

            When her dress pooled around her feet and her back hit the bed pillows Jellal wished very much he wasn’t such a restless _wreck_ of a man. He took her lips in a bruising kiss and swallowed every sound she made. The skin of her breasts tasted like her lavender soap and she arched her back to be sure his mouth landed where she wanted. He left kisses between her breasts, down her belly, and didn’t stop until he reached the soft skin of her inner thigh.

            Seven years collapsed to nothing when he pulled off her panties and kissed the wet place between her thighs. Erza’s gasps and sighs anchored him to the bed and he wanted to hear _more._ She tugged painfully on his hair when he slid his fingers inside and pressed his tongue into her folds of hot skin. Her climax came hard and fast and Jellal wasted no time sliding back over her and hitching her thighs around his hips.

            Erza’s sweat mingled with his as he took his time pushing into her. She whispered his name like the sweetest, most blasphemous prayer he’d ever heard. Her head fell to the side and Jellal’s lips and teeth found the curve of her neck. The contents of his soul he breathed into her ear. He loved her. He would have traded every last beat of his heart for just one of hers. He would spend all the remaining seconds of his life with her if the world weren’t such a broken place. Erza kissed him into silence and pushed him to his back.

            One of the greatest pleasures in his life was feeling Erza’s body pressed beneath his but watching her use him for her own delicious ends was something much more decadent. She was the sweetest cream on the most delicate of desserts. Jellal wanted to drown in her.

            His hands closed around her thighs and let her drag his climax out of him at her own pace. The climb left him gasping and the fall emptied his lungs. Erza’s hair stuck to his chest and arms but he wouldn’t dream of peeling even a single strand of it away. She stretched out next to him and took all the kisses she pleased. Like him, she didn’t want the sun to rise and leave her alone. Jellal stopped counting how many times they melted together as the moon crept across the sky.

            The morning sun kissed her skin just as familiarly as the moon. All light would love Erza always. He left a last kiss on her shoulder before slipping out the door. She never opened her eyes but they both knew she hadn’t been asleep for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. There really wasn't a better ending for this story. Epilogue to come!


	13. Chapter 13

            If he had to boil down his dislike of Foss to one thing, Jellal would say the lack of plant life made it difficult to love – and _that_ was being polite. The town stood at a punishing elevation and everything was cold stone, but the place couldn’t be avoided. He’d heard rumors of a magical relic shop somewhere nearby and Jellal was curious. If he couldn’t draw magic from within, he was interested in commanding it from the outside.

            The man he sought had a strange name and even stranger habits. He never showed his face and carried with him a collection of magical staves that, if the stories proved true, would put all the spelled papers and scrolls Ultear and Meredy had stuffed in his bag to shame.

            Besides all that, though, Jellal needed to slow his pace. The winter storm on the horizon needed to pass before he could breach the mountains and over the last several days Jellal had become aware of a tail. Someone trailed behind him too close for comfort. Perhaps the town of Foss with all its sharp corners, hard edges, and closely packed buildings would throw them off.

            On his third day in Foss, Jellal caught sight of a slight figure in a brown cloak lurking behind a row of produce vendors staring at him with wide eyes. His skin prickled but he chose not to react. Instead, he bought a bag of winter plums and took a sudden left turn out of view. He circled around the cluster of buildings that all backed up to one another and found the cloaked figure crouching near a pyramid of whiskey barrels at the mouth of a twisting alley. The display of inexperience in stalking a mark bothered him. Jellal reached out and grasped the figure’s shoulder and spun them around against the stone wall.

            “Why are you following me?” he demanded in a quiet but sharp voice.

            “I’m sorry,” the boy – who couldn’t have been older than fifteen, breathed. “She paid me a lot of money to get caught watching you.”

            “She?” Jellal’s grip on the boy’s brown cloak loosened when the sharp point of a dagger poked him in the side just below his ribs.

            “Can I go, please? I don’t want any trouble!”

            Jellal released the boy and heaved a shallow breath before grabbing the wrist of his assailant. In spite of being a master of not only his own magic but many others, Porlyusica had always insisted her assassins have an expertise in hand-to-hand combat.

            The alley was narrow and Jellal easily pinned the other person – this one in a forest green cloak much more suited to travel than small town mountain life – against the opposite wall with his forearm pressed against their clavicle. His attacker didn’t fight him at all and he didn’t have time to make demands before the dagger fizzled away and everything fell into place.

            “Should I be worried Her Majesty will send the insufferable Sir Arcadios to retrieve you?” he asked, still catching his breath. “As I recall, the last time you went missing, a certain assassin was dragged from a mountain half a country away to save your life.”

            “I would be insulted if my mother send that old windbag after me,” she said pompously. “Anything less than Lady Brandish and Lady Dimaria and I would refuse to ever set foot in Crocus again.”

            Jellal released her and she pushed the hood of her cloak back over her head.

            “Mother knows where I’ve gone and whose company I keep.”

            “Does she truly? How steep of a bargain did you have to strike?” Jellal smiled and fingered a tousled wisp of scarlet that fell against the green fabric of her cloak.

            “Surprisingly none.”

            “Nothing?” He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t believe it. Your mother is a shrewd woman.”

            “She is but she also understands it’s time I scratched an old itch.” Erza’s hands sought the opening of his woolen, fur-lined cloak – the blue and silver had been left to Ultear’s safekeeping – and touched his chest. “Are you angry with me?”

            “Why didn’t you reveal yourself sooner?” he asked, unable to stop himself from being pulled in by her gravity.

            “Maybe I liked the chase.” She bit her lip and grinned. “I thought maybe you’d take me more seriously as a companion if I proved myself capable first.”

            “After all this time you still feel the need to prove yourself worthy? Of _me?”_

            Erza frowned. “My lover has walked away from me twice now. It was a reasonable assumption.”

            Her accusation stung but he knew her words to be true. He’d hurt her even if his intentions had always been in her best interest. Perhaps he needed to accept that Erza’s best interests were her own to decide and not his.

            “The road won’t be easy, Erza. The man I seek is elusive.”

            “Do you mean the man with the staves?” she asked with another wicked grin.

            “How –” Jellal cut himself off and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m always underestimating you, Erza, forgive me.”

            “Where will you go after you’ve found him?”

            Jellal searched her eyes for any signs of hesitation or doubt. “Stella. I need to close some windows in a very old room.”

            “Take me with you, Jellal. Let _me_ be good for _you.”_ She clutched at his clothes as if she thought he’d truly send her away.

            “You’ve always been good for me, Erza.” He paused and enjoyed her smile. “I’m finding it very hard to turn you away and I get the feeling that even if I did, you’d follow me anyway.”

            “I always knew you were a smart man, Jellal.”

            “Did you really pay that boy to be a sloppy spy?” he asked pulling her hood back up over her hair.

            “I did.”

            “And did you truly tail me this far without an escort?”

            “Absolutely.”

            “Is this what you’ve been practicing instead of a proper curtsy?”

            Her laugh was low and soft. “Seven years is a long time, Jellal. I was going to get you back one way or another. Dimaria and Chelia were only a convenient catalyst.”

            Erza’s peppermint kisses chilled him deliciously. Perhaps one day he’d take the Queen up on her thinly veiled offer to make Crocus his home but first he’d find the mysterious man with his sack of magical staves. Then he’d make his way over the mountains back to the plateaus of Stella. He needed to feel the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and giving this AU a chance!


End file.
